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A  CENTURY  OF  GERMAN   LYRICS 


A   CENTURY  OF 


GERMAN     LYRICS 


Selected y  Arranged ^  and  Translated 


BY 


KATE   FREILIGRATH-KROEKER 


NEW  YORK 
FREDERICK  A  STOKES   COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS  - 


LlS^^] 


733  44 


"OTNIT  ITY 


rT)\(oQ 

E&F74 


5^ctiitation 


Oh,  Poets  !  you  my  well-loved  Poets, 

Who  have  gazed  on  me  with  your  eyes  immortal 

From  childhood  upwards,  first  from  my  father's, 

And  now  from  my  own  study  walls  ! 

You  know  how  I  love  you. 

And  if  to-day  I  send  you, 

Send  you  with  fear  and  trembling  forth 

In  your  new  and  untried  garb, 

I  feel  a  flutter  of  soul, 

And  fain  would  I  call  you  back 

To  add  still  a  word  or  suppress  another  ; 

Like  unto  an  anxious  mother 

Who  beholds  her  children  departing  from  her. 

But  you  list  not  my  cry. 

And  have  taken  wing 

For  good  and  for  worse  ; 

And  you  take  no  heed  that  for  many  years 

You  have  sheltered  with  me, 

Who  now  lose  you  reluctant. 

But  go  !     And  for  that  I  have  loved  you, 

And  have  smiled  and  wept  o'er  you  times  without  number, 

Forgive  me  my  sins  and  shortcomings. 

And  the  poems  I  translated  and  did  not  translate, 

You,  my  well -beloved  Poets  ! 


PREFACE 

But  few  words  are  necessary  to  preface  these 
Translations.  I  have  to  express  my  sincerest 
thanks  to  Baron  Tauchnitz,  as  well  as  to  Mr. 
Walter  Scott,  for  their  courteous  permission  to 
make  use  of  my  own  versions,  respectively,  from 
the  "  Freiligrath  Poems  "  in  the  Tauchnitz  edition, 
and  from  the  "  Heine  "  of  the  Canterbury  Series. 

My  father's  fine  poem,  "  The  Dreadnought  Hos- 
pital," is,  however,  not  included  in  the  Tauchnitz 
collection,  having  been  subsequently  translated  by 
myself,  and  appearing  in  this  volume  for  the  first 
time  with  my  other  unpublished  translations.  The 
subject,  one  of  peculiar  interest  to  the  English 
reader,  is  treated  by  the  poet  in  his  most  charac- 
teristic vein,  and  I  have  always  regretted  that 
"  Das  Hospital  Schiff "  was  not  included  amongst 
my  father's  poems  until  much  later. 

I  am  further  indebted  to  Dr.  Heinrich  Vierordt 
for  his  kind  permission  to  produce  in  English  garb 

vii 


l^reface 

his  poem  "  Dioscuri,"  translated  from  the  MS.,  and 
thus  appearing  here  before  the  original  has  been 
published  in  Germany. 

In  conclusion,  I  may  still  remark  that,  while  I 
trust  the  alphabetical  index  of  authors  with  dates 
may  prove  of  use  and  interest  to  the  reader,  the 
sequence  of  poets  in  the  volume  itself  is  chrono- 
logical. 

K.  F.  K. 


VIU 


CONTENTS 


ARNIM,  ACHIM  VON.     (1781-1831) 

A  Prayer  ...... 

BECK,  KARL.     (1817-1879) 

Resignation      ...... 

CHAMISSO,  ADALBERT  VON.    (1781-1833, 

The  Castle  of  Boncourt  .... 

DAHN,  FELIX      (1834) 

Kriemhild  ...  *  .  . 

Hagen's  Death  Song  ..... 

DROSTE-HULSHOF,  ANNETTE  VON.    (1797-1848) 

The  Boy  on  the  Moor  .... 

The  Deserted  House  ..... 

EICHENDORFF,  JOSEPH  VON.    (1788-1857) 

The  Loreley     ...... 

On  the  Death  of  my  Child     .... 

Moonlit  Night  ..... 

FREILIGRATH,  FERDINAND.    (1810-1876) 
Sea  Fable 
Roland  . 

The  Flowers'  Revenge 
On  the  Sea 

The  Death  of  the  Leader 
The  Water  Gueux 
Henry  . 


PAGE 
II 

176 

12 

218 
220 


22 
23 


127 
129 
132 
136 

141 
144 


IX 


Content^ 


FREILIGRATH,  FERDINAND.    {1^10-1^76)— contittued. 

PAGE 

The  Fir-tree     ...... 

145 

Africa    . 

149 

Leviathan 

155 

The  Dreadnought  Hospital 

.            158 

On  the  Drachenfels 

163 

Wild  Flowers   . 

164 

A  Hamlet  on  the  Rhine 

.            167 

The  Trumpet  of  Gravelotte    . 

172 

GEIBEL,  EMMANUEL.    (1815-1884) 

In  April             ...... 

175 

GOETHE,  JOHANN  WOLFGANG  VON.    (1749-1832) 

Gipsy  Song       ....... 

I 

Night  Thoughts           ..... 

2 

Reconciliation  ...... 

3 

My  Goddess     ...... 

4 

Song  of  the  Parcse  (from  "  Iphigeneia  ") 

7 

Charon.     (From  the  new  Greek) 

The  Critic 

•                         • 

10 

GRILLPARZER,  FRANZ.    (1790-1872) 
To  the  Tragic  Muse    . 

GROTH,  KLAUS.    (1819) 

He  Talked,  Oh  so  Much 
Old  Eiisum.     (Folk  Lore)       . 
He  Woke.     (  Folk  Lore) 
The  Haunted  Moor.    (Folk  Lore) 
The  Haunted  House.     (Folk  Lore) 
The  Holy  Oak.     (Folk  Lore) 
The  Knotted  Stick.     (Folk  Lore) 
Hans  Iwer.     (Folk  Lore) 

HAMERLING,  ROBERT.     (1832-1888) 
The  Incantation  of  the  Dead 


25 


182 
'83 
184 
185 
I  So 
187 
189 
192 


205 


HARTMANN,  MORITZ. 

Bulgarian  Lament 


(1821-1872) 


197 


Content^ 


HEINE,  HEINRICH.    (1799-1856) 

E'en  as  a  lovely  flower 

As  the  moon  bursts  forth  in  splendour 

What  means  this  lonely  tear-drop 

I  gazed  upon  her  picture 

We  sat  at  the  fisherman's  cottage 

How  canst  thou  sleep  so  softly 

At  the  cross-roads  he  lies  buried 

Your  white  slender  lily  fingers 

Down  fall  and  flutter  sadly     . 

Around  the  garden  I  wander  . 

The  midnight  hour  was  drear  and  cold 

The  Message    .... 

Dimly  sinks  the  summer  evening 

Night  lies  on  the  silent  highways 

Almansor  .... 

Soft  and  gently  through  my  soul 

The  butterfly  is  in  love  with  the  rose 

Was  once  an  ancient  monarch 

With  gloomy  sails  my  ship  doth  fly  • 

Too  late  come  now  your  smiles  of  promise 

Katharine         .... 

Desist  !  .  .  .  . 

Heinrich  .... 

Rude  mediaeval  barbarism 


PAGE 

55 
55 
56 
57 
58 

59 

60 

60 

61 

61 

62 

62 

63- 

63 

64 

69 

69 

70 

70 

71 

72 

72 

73 

74 


THE   NORTH   SEA. 


First 

Part. 

Coronation        ......'          75 

Twilight 

76 

Sunset  .... 

77 

Night  on  the  Beach    . 

79 

Poseidon 

82 

Declaration 

84 

At  Night  in  the  Cabin 

85 

Storm    . 

88 

Ocean  Calm 

90 

Sea  Vision 

91 

Cleansing 

94 

Peace    . 

95 

XI 


Content^ 


HEINE,  HEINRICH.    {ijg^-xZs6)—co7Uimied. 

THE  NORTH  SEA. 


Second 

Part 

PAGE 

Good  Morrow  . 

The  Thunderstorm 

Shipwreck 

The  Setting  Sun 

Song  of  the  Oceanides 

The  Gods  of  Greece 

97 

99 

lOO 

102 
104 
108 

Questions 
The  Phoenix     . 
In  the  Harbour 
Epilogue 

« 

III 
112 
114 

116 

HEYSE,  PAUL.    (1830) 

The  Valley  of  the  Espingo 

KELLER,  GOTTFRIED.    (1819-1890) 

Woodland  Song 
My  bright  eyes  are  shining    . 
By  Flowing  Waters 
Winter  Night  . 

LENAU,  NICOLAUS.    (1802-1850) 
Sedge  Songs : 

Faintly  sets  the  sun  o'er  yonder 
Oft  at  eve  I  love  to  saunter    . 
Angry  sunset  sky 
Mist       •  .  .  . 

LINGG,  HERMANN.    (1820) 
The  Black  Death 

MOERIKE,  EDUARD.    (1804-1875) 

One  little  hour  ere  Day 
Suum  Cuique   . 

MOSEN,  JULIUS.    (1803-1867) 
The  Crossbill    . 


202 


177 

178 

179 
181 


118 
119 
119 

I20 


194 


126 


121 


Xll 


Content^ 


MULLER,  WILHELM.    (1794-1827) 

(Cycle  of  Songs  :  The  Winter  Journey.) 

Good-night 

The  Weather  Vane 

Frozen  Tears    . 

Frozen  • 

The  Linden  Tree 

Thaw     . 

On  the  River    . 

Looking  Back  . 

The  Will-o'-the-Wisp 

Rest 

Spring  Dreams 

Solitude 

The  Post 

The  Gray  Head 

The  Crow 

The  Last  Hope 

In  the  Village  . 

The  Stormy  Morning 

Illusion . 

The  Sign  Post . 

The  Inn 

Defiance 

The  Rival  Suns 

The  Organ  Grinder 


PAGE 


28 

29 

30 

30 

31 

33 

33 

34 

35 

36 

37 

38 

39 

39 
40 
40 

41 
42 
42 
43 
44 
44 
45 
45 


PLATEN,  AUGUST  GRAF  VON.    (1795-1835) 

The  Pilgrim  before  St.  Just  . 
A  Winter  Sigh  .... 

Winter  Song     .  .  .  •  • 

Lot  of  the  Lyrist         .  .  .  • 


47 
48 
48 
48 


RITTERSHAUS,  EMIL.    (1834) 

On  the  Battlefields  of  MeU    . 
I  asked  the  Sun 


Xlll 


213 
217 


Content^ 


RUCKERT,  FRIEDERICH.    (1788-1866)  page 

The  Dying  Flower       .  .  .  .  .  .16 

Child  Dirges,  I.,  II.,  III.  : 
Human  death  and  human  life    .        .  .  .  .19 

A  shadow  in  the  daytime        .....  20 

I  had  fondly  hoped,  my  little  daughter        ...  21 

SCHEFFEL,  VICTOR  VON.    (1826-1888) 

Heini  of  Steier     .......        200 

UHLAND,  LUDWIG.    (1787-1862) 

The  King  on  the  Tower          .  .  •  .  .          14 

On  the  Death  of  a  Child         .  .  .  .  .15 

On  the  Death  of  a  Country  Parson  .  .  .  .15 

VIERORDT,  HEINRICH.    (1855) 

Cupid's  Market  ......        223 

Dioscuri  .......        224 


XIV 


gogann  IJ^oIfgang  ban  aJoetge 

Gipsy  Song 

In  drizzling  fog,  in  the  deep,  deep  snow. 
In  forest  wild,  in  the  winter  night, 
I  heard  the  barking  of  hungry  wolves, 
I  heard  the  shrieking  of  owls  : 

Wille  wow  wow  wow  t 

Wille  wo  wo  wo  I 

Wito  hoo  ! 


I  shot  a  cat  by  the  garden  fence, 
'Twas  the  pet  black  cat  of  Ann,  the  witch  ; 
That  night  seven  were-wolves  came  to  my  bed, 
Seven  village  cronies  were  they  : 

"Wille  wow  wow  wow  ! 

Wille  wo  wo  wo  ! 

Wito  hoo  ! 

I  B 


%  Century  of  overman  %9ric^ 

I  knew  them  all,  I  knew  them  well — 
Old  Ursula,  Ann,  and  Kate, 
And  Barbara,  Meg,  and  Lizzy,  and  Bess — 
They  glared  in  a  circle  and  howled  : 

Wille  wow  wow  wow  ! 

Wille  wo  wo  wo  ! 

Wito  hoo  ! 

Then  loudly  each  by  hjer  name  I  called : 
What  want  you  here  ?    You,  Ann  ?    You,  Bess  ? 
Then  shook  they  all  over  and  tossed  their  heads, 
And,  howling,  they  fled  away. 

Wille  wow  wow  wow  ! 

Wille  wo  wo  wo  ! 

Wito  hoo  ! 


Night  Thoughts 

You  I  pity,  hapless  stars  and  distant. 

You  so  fair  and  you  so  sweetly  shining, 

Gladly  showing  light  to  anxious  sailors. 

And  by  gods  and  men  still  unrewarded. 

For  ye  love  not,  never  knew  sweet  passion  ! 

Irresistibly,  the  hours  eternal 

Lead  you  onwards  through  the  spacious  heavens. 

What  dread  circuits  you've  but  now  accomplished, 

Whilst  I,  in  the  arms  of  my  Beloved, 

You  and  Midnight  have  alike  forgotten. 

2 


ap0etjie 


^  Reconciliation 

{From  tlie  "  Trilogy  of  Passion  ') 

Passion  brings  pain  !     Ah,  who  shall  soothe  the  aching, 
Who  soothe  the  heart,  bereft  of  all  it  lost  ? 
Where  are  those  hours,  so  blissful  in  the  waking  ? 
In  vain  was  yours  all  that  you  treasured  most ! 
Dimmed  is  the  mind,  confused  all  you  are  tr}'ing  ; 
The  world  so  fair,  fast  from  your  view  is  flying. 

Then,  Music,  lo !  on  angel-wings  down  soaring, 

A  million  tones  to  one  doth  intertwine, 

And  in  man's  heart  her  magic  full  outpouring, 

His  bosom  fills  with  beauty's  beam  divine  ; 

The  eye  gleams  wet,  and  feels  in  fervent  yearning 

The  god -like  worth  of  Sound  and  Teardrops  burning. 

And  so  the  heart,  free  from  its  pain,  discovers 

That  still  it  lives  and  beats,  and  joys  to  beat ; 

And  in  reward,  e'en  as  do  happy  lovers. 

Offers  itself  as  in  thanksgiving  meet. 

'Tis  then  you  feel— oh,  may  it  ne'er  be  blighted  ! — 

The  twainfold  bliss  of  Sound  and  Love  united. 


3 


%  Ccnturp  of  overman  Xyricj^ 


My  Goddess 

Which  of  the  Immortals 
Shall  claim  the  highest  prize? 
I  contend  with  no  one, 
But  I  will  give  it 
To  the  ever- changing, 
Ever  new. 

Strangest  daughter  of  Jove ; 
To  his  favourite  child 
Fair  Phantasy. 

For  he  allows  her 
All  those  caprices 
Which  he  himself  only 
Is  wont  to  enjoy  ; 
And  he  regards 
With  paternal  pleasure 
His  darling's  antics. 

Whether,  rose-crowned. 
With  wand  of  lilies, 
She  trip  it  o'er  flowery  meads, 
Reigning  o'er  birds  of  summer. 
And  sipping  light  dew 
From  buds  and  blossoms 
With  honey  lips  ; 
4 


aJ^oetlje 


.3 


Or,  whether  she  rave 

With  streaming  hair. 

And  gloomy-eyed, 

On  the  wings  of  the  wind, 

O'er  mountain  summits ; 

Appearing  to  mortals 

Rainbow -hued. 

Now  like  morn  and  evening, 

Anon  like  trembling  moonbeams, 

But  ever  varying : 

Let  us  sing  praises 

All  to  the  Father, 

Our  great,  ancient  Father, 

To  Him  who  has  given 

This  fair  and  unfading 

Companion  as  wife. 

For  to  us  only 
Hath  he  espoused  her 
In  bonds  celestial, 
And  hath  enjoined  her, 
As  faithful  consort, 
Ne'er  to  take  flight 
In  joy  or  in  sorrow. 

For  all  the  other 
Grovelling  races 
Of  our  fruitful  mother, 
The  teeming  Earth, 

5 


%  Centurn  of  oBerman  Xpric^ 


Grope  on  darkly 
In  the  blind  enjoyment 
Of  the  present  moment, 
And  the  troubled  burden 
Of  their  narrow  life. 
Bent  low  by  the  yoke 
Of  Necessity. 

But  to  us  grants  He 
His  brightest  daughter, 
His  dearest  spoiled  child. 
Rejoice,  O  mankind  ! 
Meet  her  lovingly 
E'en  as  a  Beloved  ; 
Render  her  honour 
Due  to  a  wife. 

And,  look  you,  take  heed 
That  old  grandmother  Wisdom 
Do  not  offend 
My  shy,  sensitive  child  ! 

But  I  know,  too,  her  elder 
Sedater  sister, 

My  quiet  companion  and  friend  ; 
Ah,  may  she  only 
With  my  life  leave  me, 
The  noble  Encourager, 
Comforter — Hope  ! 
6 


oBoetge 


Song  of  the  Parcae 

{From  "  Iphigeneia  ") 

Let  mortals  fear  humbly 
The  gods  up  on  high  ! 
They  hold  their  dread  power 
In  hands  sempiternal, 
And  ever  they  use  it 
As  pleases  to  them. 

Let  him  fear  them  doubly 
Whome'er  they  exalted  ! 
On  clouds  and  on  quicksands 
Stand  tables  and  benches 
Prepared,  all  of  gold. 

If  strife  e'er  arises. 

The  guests  are  hurled  headlong, 

Reviled  and  dishonoured, 

To  abysses  nocturnal ; 

And  there  await  vainly, 

In  darkness  fast-fettered, 

On  righteous  fair  sentence. 

But  they  remain  ever 
At  banquets  eternal. 
At  spread  golden  tables. 

7 


%  Centurp  of  overman  %yric| 

They  stride  the  abysses, 
From  mountain  to  mountain  ; 
From  bottomless  chasms 
The  hot  breath  of  Titans, 
Deep  smothered  and  stifled, 
Steams  into  their  nostrils, 
Like  sweet -smelling  incense, 
A  pleasant  light  vapour  ! 

The  gods  will  turn  often 
Their  joy-bringing  glances 
From  whole  generations ; 
Nor  care  to  remember 
The  ancestor's  features. 
Once  loved  and  still  pleading 
In  eloquent  silence, 
In  those  of  his  grandson. 

Thus  sang  the  dread  Sisters  : — 
In  banishment  gloomy 
And  cavern  nocturnal 
The  exile  doth  hear  them, 
And  listeth  their  singing  ; 
He  thinks  of  his  children 
And  shakes  his  hoar  head. 


8 


o^attge 


Charon 

{From  his  Translation  of  New  Greek  Songs) 

Why  are  the  mountain-tops  so  black  ? 
Whence  comes  yon  misty  vapour  ? 
Is  it  the  stormwind  battling  there, 
Or  rain,  the  summits  beating  ? 
'Tis  not  the  stormwind  raging  high, 
Nor  rain  the  summits  beating  ; 
'Tis  Charon  dread,  who  sweeps  along, 
The  Dead  all  mth  him  hurrying  ; 
The  young  he  drives  before  him  fast, 
The  old  he  drags  behind  him. 
The  youngest,  tender  infants  they, 
Are  strung  upon  his  saddle. 
The  old  men  call  on  him  to  stop, 
The  youths  kneel  down  beseeching  : 
"  Oh,  Charon,  stop  !     Stop  at  the  hedge  ! 
Stop  at  the  crystal  fountain  ! 
The  old  may  there  refresh  themselves, 
The  young  may  there  disport  them, 
The  tender  children  roam  about 
To  cull  the  bright-hued  flowers." 

*'  Not  at  the  green  hedge  will  I  stop, 
Nor  at  the  crystal  fountain  ; 


%  Centurgi  of  overman  X-pric^ 

The  women  would  fetch  water  there, 
And  recognize  their  children  ; 
Her  husband,  too,  would  each  one  know — 
Impossible  to  part  them." 


The  Critic 

A  FELLOW  dined  with  me  t'other  day, 

He  wasn't  exactly  in  my  way  ; 

I  was  sitting  down  to  my  usual  dinner, 

To  repletion  guttled  the  hungry  sinner  ; 

My  desert  he  by  no  means  did  despise, 

And  scarce  is  the  fellow  full  up  to  his  eyes, 

Than  the  devil  must  lead  him  next  door  full  fast 

To  grumble  there  at  my  poor  repast : 

*'  The  soup  might  have  been  more  rich,  I  opine. 

The  joint  more  tender,  fuller-bodied  the  wine  ! " 

Confound  the  rapscallion  !     He  raises  my  bile  ! 

Strike  him  dead,  the  dog  !     He's  a  Critic  vile  ! 


10 


%ti^m  ban  ^Crntm 

A  Prayer 

Oh  grant  me  love,  and  a  glad  heart  bestow, 
That  I  may  sing  Thee,  Lord  of  all  below. 


With  joyous  health  a  careless  ease  give  me, 
A  pious  heart,  and  courage  bold  and  free. 

Grant  children,  Lord,  worthy  our  love  and  care, 
All  enemies  far  from  the  threshold  scare. 

Next  grant  me  wings  ;  and  last,  a  mound  of  sand, 
That  mound  of  sand  in  my  dear  fatherland. 

The  wings  give  to  my  soul,  that  yearns  to  stay, 
That  it  may  tear  itself  from  earth  away  ! 


II 


The  Castle  of  Boncourt 

I  DREAM  myself  back  to  my  childhood 

And  shake  my  hoary  head, 
Why  hamit  me  thus,  ye  visions 

That  I  long  thought  forgotten  and  dead  ? 

From  verdant  shade  there  uprises 

A  castle  in  stately  pride, 
Well  know  I  those  pinnacled  towers, 

The  bridge  and  the  gateway  beside. 

The  lions  upon  the  escutcheon 
Look  down  with  familiar  face, 

I  greet  my  old  friends  and  companions, 
And  haste  up  the  courtyard  apace. 

The  sphinx  by  the  well  lies  yonder. 
All  green  doth  the  fig-tree  gleam. 

And  yonder,  behind  those  windows, 
I  once  dreamed  my  first  dream. 

12 


Cgamig^^a 


I  enter  the  castle  chapel 

And  seek  my  forefathers'  grave  ; 

'Tis  here,  there  hangs  the  old  armour, 
The  tattered  old  banners  wave. 

My  tear-dimmed  eyes  are  trying 
To  read  the  inscription  in  vain, 

What  though  the  light  from  the  windows 
Breaks  full  through  the  coloured  pane. 

Thus  firmly,  oh  house  of  my  fathers, 
Remainest  thou  fixed  on  my  heart. 

The  harrow  and  ploughshare  pass  o'er  thee, 
No  longer  on  earth  thou  art. 

Oh  cherished  soil,  be  thou  fruitful, 

I  lovingly  bless  thee  now. 
And  bless  him  doubly  whoever 

Shall  over  thee  drive  his  plough. 

But  I  from  my  dreams  will  arouse  me, 

ISIy  harp  within  my  hand  ; 
And  o'er  the  wide  world  go  roaming, 

Singing  from  land  to  land. 


13 


The  King  on  the  Tower 

There  do  they  all  lie,  reposing  soft, 
The  mountains  grey,  and  the  darkling  lea  ; 
Now  slumber  reigns,  and  the  breezes  waft 
No  sound  of  lament  to  me. 

For  all  have  I  worked,  I  have  striven  for  all, 
With  care  have  I  drunk  the  sparkling  wine  ; 
But  now  at  length  I  will  gladden  my  soul. 
For  Night  has  descended,  the  calm,  the  divine. 

Oh,  ye  letters  of  gold  through  the  starry  space, 
To  you  I  gaze  up  with  longing  and  love  ; 
Oh,  mysterious  strains  that  are  audible  scarce. 
How  you  wistfully  whisper  mine  ear  from  above. 

Mine  eye  is  dim  and  my  hair  is  white, 
In  my  hall  hang  victoriously  armour  and  crest ; 
I  have  faithfully  spoken  and  practised  the  Right, 
Oh,  when  may  I  slumber  and  rest  ? 


Hlfilanti 


Oh,  blessed  Repose,  how  I  long  for  thee, 
Oh,  resplendent  Night,  why  delay  you  so  long  ? 
When  the  brighter  rays  of  the  stars  I  shall  see. 
And  hear  a  far  fuller  song  ! 


On  the  Death  of  a  Child 

You  came,  you  went,  as  angels  go, 
A  fleeting  guest  within  our  land. 
Whence  and  where  to  ? — We  only  know  ; 
Forth  from  God's  hand  into  God's  hand. 


On  the  Death  of  a  Country  Parson 

If  spirits,  once  departed,  ever  may 

Visit  again  the  cheerful  realms  of  day. 

Then  wilt  thou  not  return  when  pale  moonbeams 

Awaken  tender  melancholy  dreams  ; 

But  on  some  sunny  morn,  when  up  on  high 

Not  e'en  a  cloudlet  flecks  the  deep  blue  sky, 

WTien  nodding  harvests  raise  their  golden  head 

All  interspersed  with  flowers  blue  and  red  : 

Then  wilt  thou  roam  the  fields  as  erst  awhile, 

And  greet  each  reaper  with  a  gentle  smile. 


15 


The  Dying  Flower 

Hope  !  thou  yet  shalt  live  to  see 
Spring  returning  fresh  and  fair ; 
Hope  inspires  every  tree 
Which  rude  autumn  winds  stripped  bare ; 
Hoping  with  the  silent  strength 
Of  its  buds  through  winter  drear, 
Till  the  sap  shall  burst  at  length, 
And  new  foliage  crown  the  year. 

**  Ah  !  no  mighty  tree  am  I, 
O'er  which  thousand  summers  wing. 
After  long  sad  winter  dream 
Weaving  fresh  new  poems  of  spring  ; 
I  am  but  the  flower,  alas, 
Wakened  by  May's  genial  glow, 
Of  which  nothing  shall  remain 
Once  'tis  covered  deep  with  snow." 
j6 


Hiicfeert 


Then,  if  thou  art  but  the  flower, 
Thou  of  heart  so  meek  and  low, 
Comfort  take,  for  seed  is  given 
To  all  things  that  bloom  below  ; 
Let  death's  tempest's  chilly  blast 
Thy  life  ashes  roughly  strew. 
From  this  very  dust  shalt  thou 
Hundredfold  thyself  renew  ! 

**  Truly,  others  after  me 
In  my  likeness  shall  arise, 
Nature's  verdure  lasts  for  aye, 
But  in  detail  quickly  dies  ; 
Yet,  if  they  are  what  I  was, 
I  myself  exist  no  more. 
Only  now  am  I  myself. 
Ne'er  again  and  ne'er  before. 

"When  the  sun  shall  kindle  them, 
Which  yet  thrills  me  warm  and  bright. 
Can  that  soothe  the  bitter  fate 
WTiich  condemns  me  soon  to  night  ? 
Even  now,  oh  fickle  sun. 
Thou  dost  turn  to  them  I  see. 
Wherefore  still  with  frosty  smile 
Art  thou  falsely  mocking  me  ? 

"Woe's  me,  that  I  trusted  thee. 
Wooed,  kissed  open  by  thy  ray  ; 

17 


%  Centurp  of  a?cniian  %pric^ 

That  I  gazed  into  thine  eye 
Till  it  stole  my  life  away  ! 
To  withdraw  this  life's  poor  rest 
From  thy  pity  hard  and  cold, 
I  will  hide  myself  from  thee, 
All  my  petals  close  I'll  fold. 

"  But  my  anger's  stubborn  ice 
Thou  dost  melt,  my  tears  now  run — 
Take,  oh  take  my  fleeting  life 
Up  to  thee,  eternal  sun  ! 
Thou  with  sunny  smile  dost  chase 
From  my  soul  all  gloom  and  pain, 
— All  I  e'er  received  from  thee, 
Dying,  I'd  acknowledge  fain. 

*'  Every  morning  breeze  that  swayed 
My  frail  stem  one  summer's  space. 
Every  butterfly  that  played, 
Glancing  round  in  airy  race  ; 
Bright  eyes,  gladdened  by  my  hue, 
Hearts,  cheered  by  my  fragrant  power- 
As  thou  subtly  wroughtest  me. 
Sun,  I  thank  thee  in  this  hour. 

"  Of  thy  world  an  ornament, 
Be  it  ne'er  so  humbly  low, 
Like  the  stars  in  higher  spheres. 
Thou  didst  let  me  blush  and  glow ; 
i8 


la^iicfteit 


One  last  breath  I'll  fondly  draw, 
And  it  shall  not  be  a  sigh, 
One  look  on  the  beauteous  earth, 
One  last  gaze  upon  the  sky. 

"  Thou,  the  world's  great  heart  of  flame. 
Let  me  wither  'neath  thy  ray. 
Heaven,  spread  thy  azure  tent. 
Whilst  I  fade  and  pass  away. 
Hail,  to  thee  oh  radiant  spring  ! 
Hail,  soft  breeze,  hail  summer's  rain  ! 
Without  grief  I  fall  asleep. 
Without  hope  to  rise  again. 


Child  Dirges 

I. 
Human  death  and  human  life 
Is  a  riddle  ! 

What  the  fates  are  calmly  weaving 
Is  a  riddle. 

That  ye  were  unto  me  given 
Is  a  wonder  ; 

That  again  I  must  restore  you 
Is  a  riddle. 

19 


%  Century  of  o^Erman  %yric^' 

That  you  live  to  me  in  death  still 
Is  a  marvel, 

And  my  life,  since  I  have  lost  you, 
Is  a  riddle. 


II. 
A  shadow  in  the  daytime, 
A  flame  by  night  thou  art ; 
Thou  livest  in  my  sorrow, 
Nor  diest  in  my  heart. 

Where'er  I  build  my  dwelling, 
Close  to  my  side  dost  start  ; 
Thou  livest  in  my  sorrow, 
Nor  diest  in  my  heart. 

Where'er  I  ask  of  thee,  child. 
Comes  answer  every  part, 
Thou  livest  in  my  sorrow. 
Nor  diest  in  my  heart. 

A  shadow  in  the  daytime 
A  flame  by  night  thou  art ; 
Thou  livest  in  my  sorrow, 
Nor  diest  in  my  heart. 


20 


HiicUrrt 


III. 

I  had  fondly  hoped,  my  little  daughter, 

That  thou  shouldst  have  stayed  with  thy  old  father, 

Never  to  have  left  him,  while  thy  brothers 

Roamed  about  the  world  their  fortune  seeking, 

From  their  parents'  hearts  they  torn  asunder  ; 

I  had  pictured  thee  around  thy  mother, 

Doing  what  was  play,  anon  in  earnest  ; 

And  I  saw  thee  bring  my  sweetened  coffee, 

As  she  brought  it  erst,  by  thee  attended. 

And  behold  !  now  dost  thou  bring  this  bitter, 

Bitter  draught,  and  I,  woe's  me,  must  drink  it. 

To  take  off  the  bitterness  I  tell  me, 

Not  for  ever  wouldst  thou  have  remained  ; 

Unawares  there  would  have  come  a  suitor 

And  thy  little  heart  had  throbbed  to  meet  him, 

While  I  should  have  said  perforce  :  Come  in,  then  ! 

And  the  youthful  wedded  wife  her  husband 

Would  have  better  loved  than  her  old  father. 

And  her  children  better  still  than  either  ! 

For  that  more  than  all  you  love  your  children, 

I  now  learn,  alas,  when  I  have  lost  you  ! 

Now,  thou  savest  me  this  pang  of  anguish. 

Little  daughter,  and  canst  love  thy  father, 

Solely,  fondly,  as  he  thee  doth  cherish. 


21 


The  Loreley 

"'Tis  late  already,  late  and  cold, 
Why  ride  you  lonely  through  the  wold  ? 
The  wood  is  drear,  alone  you  roam, — 
Fair  maid,  I'll  bear  you  with  me  home." 

**  Great  is  man's  guile  and  subtle  art, 
With  grief  is  broken  my  poor  heart  ; 
Faint  sounds  the  bugle,  high  and  low, 
Ah,  fly,  ere  who  I  am  you  know  !  " 


"  How  richly  decked  the  rider  and  her  steed, 
How  fair  those  tender  limbs  do  plead  ; 
I  know  you  now  !     God  be  my  stay  ! 
You  are  the  sorceress  Loreley  !  " 

"  You  know  me  well,  and  well  you  know 

My  castle  frowning  dark  below  ; 

'Tis  late  already,  late  and  cold. 

You  nevermore  shall  leave  this  wold  ! " 

22 


Cicgenbarff 


On  the  Death  of  my  Child 

The  clocks  strike  in  the  distance, 
'Tis  midnight's  deepest  shade  ; 

The  lamp  is  dimly  burning, 
Thy  little  bed  is  made. 

Only  the  wind  is  sobbing 
Around  our  cottage  drear, 

We  sit  in  lonely  silence, 
Listening  with  anxious  ear. 

Methinks  we  still  must  hear  thee 
Tap  gently  at  the  door, 

As  though  from  weary  wandering 
Thou  didst  return  footsore. 

We  poor  deluded  mortals, 
In  darkness  yet  we  roam. 

While  thou  hast  long  smce  gained 
Thy  calm  eternal  home. 


A  MoonHt  Night 

Methought  the  heavens  had  wafted 

Down  to  the  earth  a  kiss. 
Which  she  on  her  blossom-pillow 

Now  dreams  of  with  thrills  of  bliss. 


23  /^BRARy- 

OF   THK 


UNIVERSITY 

Of  .       " 


%  Century  of  a3erman  Xyi'icjj; 


The  night  wind  passed  o'er  the  meadows 
The  cornfields  swayed  in  the  air, 

The  forest  gently  murmured, 

The  night  was  so  starlit  and  fair. 

Then  shook  my  soul  her  pinions 

Wide  open,  far  to  roam 
O'er  the  dim  silent  country, 

As  though  'twere  flying  home. 


24 


JFrans  OJrinparser 

To  the  Tragic  Muse 

(Written  on  Jinishbig  his  Tragedy  of"  Medea"') 

Hold,  Gloomy  one,  nor  farther  go  '. 

Where  do  you  lure  me  on  ? 

Over  mountains  have  I  toiled  after, 

Have  followed  you  over  chasms  ; 

No  path  whereon  to  tread,  no  human  track, 

Men's  voices  dimly  sound  from  afar, 

Sounds,  too,  the  cheerful  tinkling  of  herds, 

And  the  roaring  torrent  ; 

Around  me  rocks,  cloud-kissing  rocks. 

On  high,  mist  and  vapour. 

Aping  man's  semblance  ! 

What  will  you  ?     Stand  and  tell  me  !— 
Lo,  at  your  side  a  woman 
Of  terrible  aspect  : 
Her  swarthy  hair  flutters, 

25 


%  Century  of  overman  Xpric^ 


Her  black  eyes  glitter, 
Her  garment  is  black  ! — Lo, 
Blood  upon  her  garment, 
On  the  dagger  she  draws  ! 

Dead  at  her  feet  lie  two  children, 

And  a  young  and  old  man, 

Distorting  in  death-anguish 

Consanguine  similar  features  ; 

And  round  her  shoulders  is  shimmering 

The  Fleece— the  gold-flashing  Fleece  '.—Medea  ! 

Get  you  from  hence,  dread  Murderess 
Of  children,  of  brother  and  father  ! 
What  have  I  in  common  with  you  ? 
I  have  reverently  honoured  my  father, 
And  when  my  mother  died 
My  pious  tears  flowed 
On  her  early  unwished-for  grave  ! — 
What  have  I  in  common  with  you  ? 
I  shudder.     Depart  ! 

And  you,  too,  you,  who  lured  me  on, 
With  the  lyre  within  your  arm, 
With  the  garland  you  wear 
Of  undying  bays  that  allure  me. 
Get  you  hence,  too,  and  leave  me, 
That  I,  groping  my  way  back, 
May  return  to  my  people. 

26 


a^rillijarscr 


But,  lo,  you  bend  on  me 

That  glance,  at  once  severe  and  tender, 

That  soul-searching  glance  of  yours 

WTiich  already,  when  but  a  boy. 

Took  out  of  his  hand  his  playthings. 

And  withdrawing  him  from  his  companions, 

Banished  him  into  solitude. 

And  gave  him  to  ponder 

The  fate  of  monarchs, 

And  the  world's  unsolved  and  eternal  riddles, 

As  presaging,  thoughtful  diversion. 

You  still  gaze  on  me,  and  will  not  go  ? 

I  am  to  follow  you,  yourself  and  companion, 

Medea  of  the  terrible  eye  ? 

You  take  your  garland  from  off  your  own. 

And  place  it  upon  the  Dread  one's  brow  ? 

For  me  yon  glory  ?     For  me  yon  reward  ? 

You  still  smile  and  beckon  ? 

I  am  to  follow,  to  be  rewarded  ? 

My  spirit  is  not  proof  against  such  weapons  I 

Your  arrows,  lo,  are  transfixed  in  my  breast  1 

Completed  be  what  I  begun  ! 

Beckon  no  longer,  for  you  have  conquered  ; 

Lead  on  !     I  will  follow. 


27 


B^ilftelm  mixlitt 

THE   WINTER  JOURNEY 

Good- Night 

As  stranger  I  came  hither, 
As  stranger  I  depart ; 
With  blooms  that  never  wither 
Spring  stole  into  my  heart. 
The  maiden  said,  *'  I  love  you  !  " 
The  mother,  "You  must  wed  !  " 
Now  is  the  world  so  dreary, 
Snow-clouds  loom  dark  o'erhead. 

I  cannot  choose  the  season 
When  I  go  forth  from  here, 
Myself  must  seek  my  pathway 
All  in  this  darkness  drear  ; 
The  moon,  as  my  companion. 
Flits  by  me,  dim  and  pale, 
And  ever  I  go  searching 
O'er  whitened  hill  and  dale. 
28 


MuUtt 


Why  should  I  tarry  yonder 
Until  they  drove  me  hence  ? 
Let  stray  dogs  go  a-howling 
Before  their  master's  fence. 
Love  likes  to  roam  and  wander, 
For  such  is  his  delight, 
From  this  one  to  another — 
Good-night,  Sweetheart,  good-night  ! 

I'll  not  disturb  your  dreams,  dear, 
'Twere  pity  for  your  sleep  ; 
You  shall  not  hear  my  footsteps, 
Adown  the  stairs  I'll  creep. 
I'll  just  write  on  the  door,  dear, 
"  Good-night,"  ere  I  depart. 
That  you  may  see  to-morrow, 
I've  thought  of  you,  Sweetheart  I 


The  Weather  Vane 

The  wind  plays  wildly  with  the  silly 
Bright  weather  vane  on  her  abode  ; 
And  lo,  methought  'twas  mocking  shrilly 
The  poor  sad  traveller  in  the  road. 

Ah  !  sooner  far  should  he  have  heeded 
The  symbol  of  the  house  displayed, 
And  never  had  he  then  expected, 
Inside  a  true  and  constant  maid. 
29 


%  Centui-p  of  overman  %^tit^ 


With  my  poor  heart  the  wind  is  playing, 
As  on  the  roof,  but  not  so  loud  : 
What  care  these  people  for  my  sorrow, 
Their  child  will  marry,  rich  and  proud. 


Frozen  Tears 

Cold  icy  drops  are  falling 

Down  from  my  cheeks  full  slow  ; 
And  have  I  then  been  weeping  ? 

How  is't  I  did  not  know  ! 

Oh  teardrops,  bitter  teardrops, 
Wherefore  so  cold  are  you, 

That  all  to  ice  you're  frozen 
Like  chilly  morning's  dew  ? 

Yet  from  my  heart  upwelling 
You  gush  with  fervid  woe, 

As  though  you'd  fain  be  melting 
All  winter's  ice  and  snow. 


Frozen 

I  SEEK  her  footstep's  traces 
In  this  deep  snow  in  vain. 

Where  to  my  arm  close  clinging, 
She  roamed  the  verdant  plain. 
30 


jBiiHer 


I'll  melt  the  ground  with  kisses, 
I'll  pierce  through  ice  and  snow 

With  tears  all  hot  and  burning, 
Till  I  see  earth  below. 

^Vhere  shall  I  find  a  blossom, 
Where  find  a  blade  of  green  ? 

The  flowers  all  are  frozen, 
The  grass  is  dull  of  sheen. 

Shall  I  then  take  no  token 

From  hence,  no  memory  ? 
When  all  my  woes  are  silent. 

Who'll  speak  of  her  to  me  ? 

My  heart  is  dead  and  frozen, 

Cold  lies  her  image  there  ; 
Should  e'er  my  heart  be  thawed  again, 

That,  too,  will  fade  in  air. 


The  Linden  Tree 

A  LINDEN  tree  grows  blithely 
Out  by  the  village  well ; 

How  oft  I've  dreamed  beneath  it 
Sweet  dreams,  I  scarce  can  tell. 

31 


%  Ccntucy  of  German  %yric^ 


Into  its  bark  I've  graven 
Full  many  a  well-loved  name, 

It  ever  drew  me  onwards, 
In  joy  and  grief  the  same. 

To-day  I  had  to  pass  it 

Beneath  drear  midnight  skies, 
And  even  in  that  darkness 

I  fain  had  closed  mine  eyes. 

And  lo,  its  branches  murmured 

As  calling  unto  me  : 
'*  Come  hither,  ah,  come  hither, 

Here  is  repose  for  thee  !  " 

The  bitter  blast  was  blowing 

Full  in  my  face  anon, 
It  caught  my  hat  and  whirled  it — 

I  steadfastly  went  on. 

Now  many  a  weary  hour 
I'm  absent  from  my  tree. 

And  still  I  hear  it  murmur  : 
"  You'll  find  repose  with  me  !  " 


32 


jOaullEr 


Thaw 


Many  a  tear  has  fallen  blindly 
From  mine  eyes  on  to  the  snow, 

Thirstily  the  flakes  absorb  them, 
Drinking  in  my  fervid  woe. 

When  the  buds  begin  to  burgeon, 
\Yarm  mild  airs  begin  to  blow, 

And  the  ice  breaks  up  in  thunder, 
And  all  softly  melts  the  snow. 

Snow,  thou  knowest  of  my  yearning, 
Tell  me,  whither  wends  thy  way? 

Only  follow  thou  my  teardrops. 
Soon  they'll  join  the  brooklet  gay. 

You  will  roam  the  town  together. 
In  and  out  each  busy  street, — 

When  my  tears  you  shall  feel  burning, 
There  have  passed  my  Dear  one's  feet ! 


On  the  River 

Oh,  bright  and  cheery  river, 

That  rushed  so  swiftly  by. 
How  hushed  art  thou  and  silent, 

With  never  a  last  good-bye. 

33  "^ 


%  Century  of  overman  %yric^ 


With  ice  hast  thou  encrusted 
Thy  surface,  thick  and  strong  ; 

Rigid  and  without  motion 
Winds  thy  cold  length  along. 

With  sharpest  stone  I've  graven 
Upon  thy  surface  dour. 

The  name  of  my  Beloved, 
The  day  and  very  hour  : 

The  day  of  our  first  meeting, 
The  hour  I  went  again. 

And  round  the  name  and  number 
A  ring  that's  broke  in  twain. 

My  heart,  dost  in  this  river 
Thy  image,  haply,  know  ? 

I  wonder  if  beneath  it 

Swells,  too,  such  raging  woe  ! 


Looking  Back 

I  CHAFE  and  burn  with  hot  impatience 

Although  I  face  an  icy  wind, 
Fain  would  I  ne'er  draw  breath  nor  rest  me 

Till  every  house  was  left  behind. 

34 


jd^iiller 


Against  each  stone  I've  knocked  and  stumbled 
In  my  wild  haste  from  out  the  town, 

From  all  the  eaves  the  snowballs  crumbled, 
That  mocking  crows  were  flinging  down. 

Far  differently  you  once  received  me, 

Oh  town  of  sad  inconstancy, 
Before  your  windows  bright  were  singing 

Song-birds  in  rival  melody. 

The  fragrant  limes  were  sweetly  blowing, 
The  fountains  plashed  in  summer  shine, 

And  ah,  two  soft  kind  eyes  were  glowing — 
Then  wast  thou  done  for,  heart  of  mine  ! 

Whene'er  that  day  I  now  remember 

I  fain  would  backwards  gaze  once  more, 

And  fain  would  I  return,  all  faltering, 
And  stand  again  beside  her  door. 


The  Will-o'-the-Wisp 

To  the  wilderness  you've  lured  me 
Will-o'-the-wisp,  full  fair  to  see ; 

How  an  egress  to  discover 
Does  not  greatly  trouble  me  ; 

35 


%  Century  of  overman  Xyric^ 


Used  am  I  to  stray  and  wander, 

To  one  goal  leads  every  way  ; 
All  our  joys  and  all  our  sorrows 

Are  but  Jack-o'-lantern's  play. 

Down  the  mountain  stream's  dry  channel 
Calm  I  wend,  through  rocks  and  gloom,- 

Every  stream  must  gain  the  ocean, 
Every  sorrow  find  its  tomb. 


Rest 

Now  that  I  lay  me  down  to  rest, 
All  worn  I  feel  and  weary  ; 

Throughout  the  day  I  have  kept  up 
O'er  lonely  roads  and  dreary. 

My  feet  nor  asked  for  halt  or  rest, 
The  sharp  cold  kept  me  going. 

The  stormwind  eased  my  weary  back, 
And  helped  me  onwards,  blowing. 

Into  a  humble  wayside  hut 
For  rest  I  fain  am  turning. 

But  ah,  my  limbs  can  find  no  rest, 
So  sore  their  wounds  are  burning. 
-,6 


MiiUtx 


Thou  too,  my  heart,  so  fierce  and  hold, 
Tempest  and  stonn  defying  ; 

Lo,  in  this  cahn,  dost  feel  but  now 
Thy  canker's  worm  undying  ! 


Spring  Dreams 

I  DREAMED  of  sweet  bright  flowers, 
Of  bloom  and  blossom  in  May, 

I  dreamed  of  spring-green  meadows, 
Of  birds  singing  blithely  and  gay. 

And  when  the  cock  crowed  shrilly. 
The  dream  fled  from  mine  eye, 

And  all  was  dark  and  dreary, 
I  heard  the  night-raven's  cry. 

Say,  who  upon  my  windows 
Traced  fairy  flower  and  tree  ? 

Ye  smile  perchance  at  the  dreamer 
Who  flowers  in  winter  doth  see  ! 

I  dreamed  of  a  sweet  bright  maiden, 
Of  raptiurous  love  and  bliss, 

Of  vows  and  lover's  caresses, 
Of  many  a  burning  kiss. 

37 


%  Centuru  of  overman  %yric| 


And  when  the  cock  crowed  shrilly 
My  heart  woke  with  a  moan, 

And  now  I  sadly  ponder 
On  my  sweet  dream  alone. 

I  softly  close  my  eyelids, 

My  heart  still  throbs  so  warm — 

Ye  frost  flowers,  when  will  ye  blossom  ? 
When  shall  I  clasp  thee  in  my  arm  ? 


Solitude 

Like  to  a  cloud,  that  gloomy 
Floats  through  a  smiling  sky, 

When  in  the  pine-trees'  summit 
A  faint  soft  breeze  goes  by  : 

Thus  I  drag  on  my  journey 
With  listless  foot  and  slow  ; 

Lonely  and  without  greeting, 
Through  gladsome  life  I  go. 

Ah,  bright  and  radiant  heavens, 
Bright  without  cloud  or  blot, 

Whilst  yet  the  storms  were  raging 
So  wretched  was  I  not  ! 

38 


mmtt 


The  Post 

From  the  street  below  the  post-horn  sounds, 
Wliy  is  it  that  it  so  starts  and  bounds, 
My  heart  ? 

No  letter  brings  the  post  for  me, 
^^^ly  beat  you  then  so  furiously, 
ISIy  heart  ? 

Ah  sooth,  the  post  comes  from  the  town, 
Where  a  fair  love  I  called  my  own, 
My  heart  ! 

Shall  I  run  over  just  to  see, 
And  ask  how  all  with  her  may  be, 
My  heart  ? 


The  Gray  Head 

Jack  Frost  has  grizzled  o'er  my  hair 
With  silvery  sheen  and  hoary  ; 

I  smiled  to  think  I  had  grown  old. 
Rejoicing  at  the  story. 

But  soon  it  melted  all  away. 

No  more  my  curls  are  whitened  ; 

How  far  still  to  the  grave,  ah  say  ! — 
Of  my  own  youth  I'm  frightened  ! 
39 


%  Century  of  (German  %jirii:^ 


From  even  unto  morning  sun 

Men  have  turned  old  and  weary  ; 

And  lo,  my  hair  has  not  turned  white 
In  all  this  journey  dreary. 


The  Crow 

Yon  black  crow  has  followed  me 
From  the  town,  before  me  ; 

Still  my  head  encircling,  he 
Day  by  day  flies  o'er  me. 

Tell  me,  Crow,  fantastic  bird, 
Wilt  thou  ne'er  forsake  me  ? 

Dost  thou  think  to  seize  me  soon, 
On  my  blood  to  slake  thee  ? 

Well,  this  journey  soon  is  o'er. 
To  the  grave  I'm  wending  ; 

Crow,  let  me  at  length  behold 
Constancy  unending  ! 


The  Last  Hope 

Here  and  there,  a  leaf  is  hanging, 
Left  a-hanging  on  the  trees. 

And  I  often  watch  it  swaying, 
Fluttering  in  the  fitful  breeze. 
40 


jaiiller 


On  that  leaf  I  gaze  and  ponder, 
Fix  my  hope  on  it  so  sere  ; 

WTien  the  w-ind  plays  with  my  leaflet, 
Then  I  tremble,  too,  with  fear. 

Ah,  and  when  to  earth  it  falleth, 
Sinks  my  hope  with  it  along, 

Lo,  myself  to  earth  am  falling, 
On  its  grave  sad-weeping  long. 


In  the  Village 

The  dogs  are  barking,  their  chains  loud  rattling, 
WTiile  men  lie  abed  with  dreams  sore  battling  ; 
Dreaming  of  things  which  they  never  have  had, 
Taking  their  fill  both  of  good  and  of  bad, 
Lo,  and  all's  fled  at  the  dawn  of  the  morrow.— 
Ah  well,  they  have  shared  of  joy  and  of  sorrow. 
And  hope  the  rest  they  have  left  behind 
Upon  their  pillows  again  to  find. 

Let  me  not  rest,  ye  watch-dogs  trusty, 
Furiously  drag  at  your  chains  so  rusty  ; 
Behold,  I  have  done  with  dreams  for  ever, 
So  let  me,  too,  from  yon  slumberers  sever. 


41 


%  Century  nf  a^erman  Xpric^ 


The  Stormy  Morning 

How  has  the  tempest  riven 
Heaven's  sombre  robe  of  gray  ! 

Spent,  tattered  clouds  are  drifting 
About  in  weak  affray. 

And  tongues  of  hirid  fire 

Between  them  flash  and  dart — 
Oh,  how  a  stormy  morning, 

Like  this,  doth  love  my  heart  ! 

Its  own  reflected  picture 
It  therein  can  discern — 

'Tis  nothing  but  grim  winter, 
Grim  winter,  wild  and  stern  ! 


Illusion 

A  DANCING  light  doth  cheer  my  way, 
I  follow  it — and  go  astray  ; 
I  gladly  follow,  though  aware 
That  it  is  but  a  dazzling  snare. 
Ah,  who  so  wretched  e'en  as  I, 
Loves  to  believe  such  radiant  lie, 
42 


jBiiller 


That  shows,  'mid  ice  and  snow  and  gloom, 
Delusively,  a  bright  warm  home. 
And  in  that  home  my  darling  see  ! — 
Illusion  is  the  best  for  me  ! 


The  Sign-Post 

Why  avoid  the  beaten  highway, 

^\^lich  all  other  travellers  go, 
Seeking  hidden  path  and  byway, 

Rocky  solitudes  and  snow  ? 

I  have  done  nor  wrong  nor  evil 

To  evade  my  fellow -men — 
Say,  what  foolish  whim  and  fancy 

Drives  me  forth  to  desert  glen  ? 

Finger-posts  stand  by  the  wayside, 

Pointing  to  the  distant  town. 
And  I  journey  on  and  onward 

Seeking  rest  and  finding  none. 

Lo,  a  Sign-post  I  see  standing, 
Fixed,  unmoved,  upon  my  track, 

And  a  road  I  have  to  journey, 

Road,  from  which  none  e'er  comes  back  ! 

43 


%  Century  af  a3etman  %eiric>^ 


The  Inn 

Into  a  country  churchyard 
Hath  led  me  on  my  way  ; 

Here  will  I  stop  and  rest  me, 
I  to  myself  did  say. 

Ye  green  funereal  garlands 
Are  sign-boards  of  this  inn, 

That  tempt  the  weary  traveller 
To  stay  and  rest  within. 

Are  then,  inside,  these  chambers 
Bespoken  one  and  all  ? 

I  am  so  faint  and  footsore, 
I'm  wounded  like  to  fall. 

Oh,  unkind  Inn  and  cheerless. 
Wherefore  refuse  my  quest  ? 

Toil  onward,  still,  toil  onwards, 
My  faithful  staff,  nor  rest. 


Defiance 

When  the  snow  drives  in  my  face. 

Lightly  off  I  fling  it ; 
When  my  heart  in  sorrow  moans, 

Lightly  off  I  sing  it ; 
44 


jBtiller 


Will  not  listen  what  it  tells, 

All  its  sighs  heed  never  ; 
Turn  deaf  ear  to  its  complaints — 

P'ools  are  plaining  ever. 

Bravely  onwards,  ever  on, 
'Gainst  all  wind  and  weather, 

If  no  gods  on  earth  there  be, 
We'll  be  gods  together. 

The  Rival  Suns 

Blazing  beheld  I  three  suns  on  high, 
I  gazed  on  them  long  and  steadfastly  ; 
And  they,  too,  stared  so  fixedly, 
As  if  they  would  not  part  from  me. 
Alas,  my  suns  ye  three  are  not. 
For  you  on  others  gaze,  I  wot  I 
Ah,  I  had  three  the  other  day, 
Now  the  two  best  have  passed  away. 
Would  that  the  third  set  too,  so  stark, - 
I  should  feel  better  in  the  dark. 

The  Organ  Grinder 

Listen  to  yon  crazy. 

Poor  old  organ -man. 
With  his  stiff  numb  fingers 

Grinding  all  he  can. 

45 


%  Centurp  of  a3ernian  Xpric^ 


Barefoot,  see  him  tottering 

On  the  icy  plain, 
While  his  little  platter 

Empty  doth  remain. 

No  one  cares  to  hear  him, 
No  one  looks  his  way, 

And  the  dogs  go  growling 
Round  him  in  fierce  play. 

And  he  lets  things  happen 

Even  as  they  will, 
Turns  his  wheezy  organ, 

Never  standing  still. 

Strange  old  man  and  crazy, 
Shall  we  forces  join  ? 

Will  you  grind  your  organ 
To  these  songs  of  mine  ? 


46 


^ugu^t  6taf  Uon  paten 

The  Pilgrim  before  St.  Just 

'Tis  night  and  storms  sweep  by  and  loudly  roar, 
Hispanian  monks,  unlock  to  me  your  door. 

Till  matin  bell  awakes,  here  let  me  stay, 
Which  frightens  you  to  prayers  and  church  away. 

Prepare  for  me  all  that  your  House  can  do, 
Your  robe  of  Order  and  a  coffin  too. 

Grudge  me  not  one  small  cell,  and  consecrate 
Me,  to  whom  half  the  world  belonged  of  late. 

This  head,  which  stoops  beneath  the  scissors  now, 
Has  worn  full  many  a  crown  upon  its  brow. 

Imperial  ermine  decked  with  princely  state, 
Those  shoulders  which  are  clad  with  cowl  sedate. 

Now  am  I  like  the  dead  before  I'm  cold, 
And  fall  to  ruins  like  the  empire  old. 


1 1 


%  Century  of  a3erman  %yric^ 


A  Winter  Sigh 

The  heavens  above  laugh  bright  and  blue, 
Ah,  would  that  the  earth  were  green  ! 
The  winds  cut  keen — ah,  that  soft  they  blew, 
The  snow  doth  glitter,  ah,  were  it  dew, 
Ah,  would  that  the  earth  were  green  ! 


Winter  Song 

Patience,  thou  small  bud,  shrinking 
Beneath  the  cold  spring  moon  ; 

As  yet  'tis  all  too  early, 
As  yet  'tis  all  too  soon. 

To-day  I  pass  and  leave  thee, 
Marking  thy  wood  retreat, 

But  when  the  spring  returneth, 
I'll  come  and  fetch  thee,  sweet. 


Lot  of  the  Lyrist 

Ever  cleaves  our  soul  unto  action.     Matter 
Is  the  mighty  pulse  of  the  world,  and  therefore 
Mostly  chants  to  ears  that  are  deaf,  the  exalted 
Lyrical  Poet. 
48 


platen 

To  each  grasp  doth  readily  Homer  lend  him, 
Spreading  out  his  tissue  of  gorgeous  fable  ; 
Whilst  with  ease  the  Dramatist  gains  the  people's 
Rapturous  plaudits. 

But  thy  flight,  oh,  Pindar,  thy  art,  oh,  Flaccus, 
But  thy  weighty  pondering  word,  oh,  Petrarch, 
Doth  impress  more  slowly  our  hearts  ;  the  masses 
Ne'er  understand  it. 

Theirs  but  inner  charm,  not  the  careless  measure 
Of  some  love  lay  lilted  to  please  proud  beauty ; 
For  no  heedless  glance  may  e'er  scan  their  genius' 
Lofty  sublimeness. 

Ever  seems  familiar  their  name,  resounding 
Full  within  the  ear  of  mankind.     Yet  seldom 
Are  they  joined  in  homage  and  friendship  by  some 
Spirit  congenial. 


49 


The  Boy  on  the  Moor 

Oh,  drear  is  the  way  o'er  the  moor  by  night, 
When  the  swamp-bred  mists  are  flying, 
When  the  fog- wreaths  whirl  like  phantoms  light, 
When  the  bramble  clasps  the  thorn-bush  tight, 
When  at  every  footstep  a  clear  rill  springs, 
And  from  out  each  crevice  it  oozes  and  sings  ; 
Oh,  drear  is  the  way  o'er  the  moor  by  night 
When  the  reeds  in  the  wind  are  sighing. 


Close  pressing  his  books  runs  the  trembling  boy, 

His  speed  by  terror  heightened  ; 

The  wind  moans  past  with  hollow  sigh — 

What  rustles  in  yonder  bush  close  by  ? 

'Tis  the  spectre  gravedigger,  appearing  again, 

Who  stole  the  best  peat  and  squandered  the  gain  ; — 

He  breaks  through  the  boughs  like  stray  cattle — he's  nigh  !- 

Down  shrinks  the  boy,  sore  frightened. 

50 


^ro^tE^I^ttl^Bof 


From  the  shore  the  stunted  willows  loom, 
The  firs  are  uncannily  bending, 
The  boy  speeds  on  through  the  tangled  broom, 
Through  giant  rushes,  like  spears  in  the  gloom  ; 
Hark,  how  it  rustles  and  crackles  loud  ! 
'Tis  the  haunted  spinner-girl,  lazy  and  proud, 
'Tis  the  ghostly  Jenny,  whose  wretched  doom 
To  twirl  her  spindle  unending. 

On,  on,  he  flies,  through  brake  and  bush. 

O'er  moorland  flat  and  hilly, 

From  under  his  footsteps  oozes  the  slush 

Like  a  melody  weird  from  sedge  and  rush  ; 

That  is  the  pilfering  fiddler,  Joe, 

Who  stole  the  wedding  presents,  you  know, — 

You  can  hear  him  plainly  now,  oh  hush  ! 

His  fiddle  squeaking  shrilly. 

The  ground  splits  open  with  yell  and  groan, 
Her  spectral  arms  wild  tosses 
The  phantom  Margaret  and  makes  her  moan  : 
"  Oh,  my  lost  soul,  ochone  !  ochone  !" — 
The  boy  darts  on  like  a  frightened  deer, 
Were  not  his  guardian  angel  near, 
One  day  were  found  his  bleaching  bone 
'Neath  moorland  peats  and  mosses. 

At  length  the  ground  grows  firm,  and  bright 
A  lamp  by  the  willow  yonder 

51 


%  Century  of  ^rrmaii  %pric«i 


Doth  shed  a  safe  and  homely  light  ; 
The  boy  still  trembles  with  dread  and  fright  ; 
He  pauses,  hard  breathing,  and  back  askance 
O'er  his  shoulder  he  throws  a  shy  wild  glance 
Oh,  the  haunted  heath  was  eerie  by  night, 
'Twas  dread  o'er  the  moor  to  wander. 


The  Deserted  House 

A  HOUSE  stands  empty  down  the  glen, 
For  years  ago  has  died  the  keeper  ; 
And  there  I  rest  me  now  and  then, 
Half  buried  beneath  bmsh  and  creeper  ; 
A  wilderness,  wherein  the  day 
But  half  uplifts  his  eyelid  weary  ; — 
The  rocky  gap  glooms  dark  and  dreary, 
O'ershadowed  by  gaunt  branches  gray. 

I  listen  dreamily  the  flies' 
Soft  drowsy  hum  as  they  flash  o'er  me, 
The  forest  echoes  as  with  sighs, 
Stray  beetles  blindly  drone  before  me  ; 
And  when  the  sunset  fires  imbue 
These  rocks  that  ooze  with  wet  down  creeping, 
Then,  as  an  eye  that  has  been  weeping, 
They  seem  all  red  and  dull  of  hue. 

52 


Where  by  yon  arbour's  rank  decay 
Wild  shoots  are  growing,  thin  and  weedy, 
Carnation  slips  now  even  stray 
O'er  marshy  places,  wet  and  reedy  ; 
The  rock-drip  sets  in  pools  of  slush, 
That  steal,  without  or  aim  or  order, 
Lazily  round  the  old  box  border 
And  soak  in  by  the  fennel  bush. 

The  thatch,  with  moss  encrusted  green, 
Is  overgrown  with  tangled  litter, 
And  in  the  broken  pane  is  seen 
A  spider's  web  strangely  a-glitter  ; 
For,  see,  like  leaf  of  golden  brown, 
A  wing  of  dragon-fly  hangs  pendent, 
\\Tiile  its  cuirass'  shield  resplendent. 
Headless,  doth  dangle  lower  down. 

Sometimes  a  butterfly  has  strayed 
Into  the  glen  at  noontide  hour, 
And  for  a  second  it  has  played 
Round  the  narcissus'  sickly  flower ; — 
When  o'er  the  chasm  it  doth  fly, 
Its  croon  the  pigeon  wild  is  hushing, 
You  only  hear  its  pinions  rushing 
And  see  its  shadow  flitting  by. 

And  on  the  hearthstone,  where  the  snow 
For  years  down  the  wide  flue  has  sifted, 

53 


%  Century  of  overman  %yricp 


Gray  mildew  rankly  doth  o'ergrow 
The  ashes  that  lie  dank  and  drifted  ; 
Some  strands  of  tangled  yarn  still  rest, 
Hanging  from  roof  on  staple  rusty, 
Almost  like  hair,  matted  and  musty, 
And  in  it,  lo  !  a  last  year's  nest. 

And  from  the  rafters  overhead 
Swings  a  dog's  collar,  old  and  dusty. 
Whereon  *'  Diana  "  may  be  read, 
Broidered  in  worsteds  coarse  and  rusty ; 
That  pipe,  too,  surely  was  forgot, 
When  they  nailed  down  the  coffin's  cover,- 
The  man  was  buried — and  that  over 
The  poor  old  faithful  dog  was  shot. 

As  I  sit  idly  thus  and  dream, 

I  hear  the  field-mouse  stealthy  gnawing, 

The  squirrel  barks  its  sharp  short  scream. 

Softened  resounds  the  rooks'  far  cawing  ; 

And  then  I  sometimes  feel  a  chill, 

As  though  I  heard  them  starting  gladly 

Upon  their  rounds, — Di  barking  madly. 

And  the  dead  keeper  whistling  still. 


54 


Du  bist  wie  eine  Blume 

E'en  as  a  lovely  flower, 
So  fair,  so  pure,  thou  art  ; 

I  gaze  on  thee,  and  sadness 
Comes  stealing  o'er  my  heart. 

My  hands  I  fain  had  folded 
Upon  thy  soft  brown  hair, 

Praying  that  God  may  keep  thee 
So  lovely,  pure  and  fair. 


Wie  der  Mond  sich  leuchtend  dranget 

As  the  moon  bursts  forth  in  splendour 
From  the  clouds  that  gloom  it  o'er, 

Thus  there  starts  a  radiant  \'ision 
P'orth  from  troubled  times  of  yore. 

55 


%  Centurp  of  overman  Xpric^ 

On  the  deck  again  we're  sitting, 
Down  the  Rhine  we  proudly  flow, 

And  the  deep  rich  banks  of  summer 
In  the  evening  sunset  glow. 

At  my  lady's  feet  reclining, 

Pondering  dreamily  I  lay  ; 
O'er  her  pale  beloved  features 

Golden-threaded  sunbeams  play. 

Music  ringing,  children  singing, 
Strange  sweet  joy  on  every  side  ! 

Deeper  grew  the  vault  of  heaven, 
And  the  soul  expanded  wide. 

Fairy-like  each  passed  before  us. 
Mountain,  wood,  and  castle  high  ; 

And  I  saw  it  all  reflected 
In  my  lady's  beauteous  eye. 


Was  will  die  einsame  Thrane 

What  means  this  lonely  teardrop, 

It  only  dims  mine  eye  ; 
'Twas  left  behind,  remaining, 

From  times  long  since  gone  by. 
56 


It  had  many  shining  sisters, 
That  all  have  passed  away, 

Away  with  my  joy  and  my  sorrow 
In  night  and  storm  fled  away. 

Like  mist,  too,  have  departed 
Those  blue  stars  sweet  and  bright, 

That  smiled  such  joy  and  sorrow 
Into  my  heart's  lone  night. 

My  love  itself  has  faded, 
E'en  like  an  idle  breath  ; 

Thou  solitary  teardrop. 

Dissolve  thou,  too,  in  death. 


Ich  stand  in  dunkeln  Traumen 

I  GAZED  upon  her  picture. 
My  bosom  dark  with  strife, 

And  her  beloved  features 
Kindled  to  secret  life. 

Around  her  lips  there  trembled 

A  smile  so  sweet,  so  dear, 
While  drops  of  heavenly  sadness 

Within  her  eyes  shone  clear. 
57 


%  Ccnturp  of  overman  %yric^ 


And  mine  were  also  streaming 
With  teardrops  wild  and  wet — 

And  oh,  I  cannot  believe  it, 
That  I  have  lost  you  yet  ! 


Wir  sassen  am  Fischerhause 

We  sat  at  the  fisherman's  cottage. 

And  gazed  upon  the  sea ; 
Then  came  the  mists  of  evening, 

And  rose  up  silently. 

The  lights  within  the  lighthouse 

Were  kindled  one  by  one, 
We  saw  still  a  ship  in  the  distance 

On  the  dim  horizon  alone. 

We  spoke  of  tempest  and  shipwreck, 

Of  sailors  and  of  their  life. 
And  how  'twixt  clouds  and  billows 

They're  tossed,  'twixt  joy  and  strife. 

We  spoke  of  distant  countries 
From  North  to  South  that  range. 

Of  strange  phantastic  nations, 
And  their  customs  quaint  and  strange. 

58 


^ 


Igeine 

The  Ganges  is  flooded  with  splendour, 
And  perfumes  waft  through  the  air, 

And  gentle  people  are  kneeling 
To  Lotos  flowers  fair. 

In  Lapland  the  people  are  dirty, 
Flat-headed,  large-mouthed,  and  small ; 

They  squat  round  the  fire,  and  frying 
Their  fish,  they  shout  and  they  squall. 

The  girls  all  gravely  listened. 

No  word  was  spoken  at  last ; 
The  ship  we  could  see  no  longer, 

Darkness  was  settling  so  fast. 


Wie  kannst  du  ruhig  schlafen 

How  canst  thou  sleep  so  softly, 

Kjiowing  I  am  alive  ? 
My  old  hot  wrath  returneth, 

And  then  my  bondage  I  rive. 

Dost  know  the  old,  old  legend  : 

How  once  a  lover  dead 
Fetched  down  to  the  grave  his  sweetheart. 

At  the  hour  of  midnight  dread  ? 
59 


%  Centurp  of  overman  %i\nt^ 


Fairest  of  maids,  believe  me, 
Thou  sweetest,  too,  by  far  : 

I  am  alive,  and  stronger 
Than  any  dead  men  are  ! 


Am  Kreuzweg  ward  begraben 

At  the  cross-roads  he  lies  buried 
Who  ended  his  life  in  shame  ; 

And  there  grows  a  pale  blue  flower, 
The  Felon's  Flower  by  name. 

At  the  cross-roads  I  stood  sighing. 
Silent  the  night  and  drear  ; 

All  gently  swayed  the  flower 
In  the  moonlight  cold  and  clear. 


Deine  weissen  Lilienfinger 

Your  white,  slender  lily  fingers, 
Oh,  if  I  once  more  could  kiss  them, 
And  could  press  them  to  my  heart. 
And  then  swoon  in  silent  weeping. 

Your  clear  violet  eyes  are  ever, 
Ever  present,  day  and  night  ; 
What  may  mean,  I  ask  for  ever, 
What  may  mean  those  sweet  blue  riddles  ? 

60 


l|eine 


Das  gelbe  Laub  erzittert 

Down  fall  and  flutter  sadly 
The  yellow  leaves  and  sere,  — 

And  all  that  is  fair  and  lovely 
Fades,  trembling,  to  the  bier. 

The  forest  is  steeped  in  the  splendour 
Of  a  sad  and  sorrowful  light  ; 

Perchance,  these  are  the  last  kisses 
Of  summer,  departing  bright. 

And  my  hot  tears  upwelling, 
Gush  from  my  inmost  heart, 

As  I  think  of  that  hour  when  sadly 
We  two  did  kiss  and  part. 

I  had  to  leave  you,  my  darling, 
Knowing  you  soon  must  die  ! 

You  were  the  fading  forest, 
Departing  summer  I ! 


Am  leuchtenden  Sommermorgen 

Around  the  garden  I  wander 
On  this  radiant  summer  morn, 

The  flowers  are  whispering  together, 
But  I  am  all  sad  and  forlorn. 
6i 


%  Centurgi  of  overman  Xgiric^ 


The  flowers  are  whispering  together, 
With  pity  my  face  they  scan  : 

"  Be  not  angry  with  our  sister, 
Thou  sad  and  pale-faced  man." 


Die  Mitternacht  war  kalt  und  stumm 

The  midnight  hour  was  dreary  and  cold, 
Loud  wailing  I  strayed  through  wood  and  wold. 
From  their  sleep  I  shook  in  despairing  passion 
The  trees — they  shook  their  heads  in  compassion. 


The  Message 

Up,  boy  !     Arise  and  saddle  quick, 
And  mount  your  swiftest  steed, 

And  to  King  Duncan's  castle  ride 
O'er  bush  and  brake  with  speed. 

There  slip  into  the  stable  soft, 

Till  one  shall  see  you  hide, 
Then  ask  him  :  WTiich  of  Duncan's  girls 

Is  she  that  is  a  bride  ? 

And  if  he  say  :  The  dark-haired  one, 
Then  give  your  mare  the  spur ; 

But  if  he  say  :  The  fair-haired  one. 
You  need  not  hurry  her. 
62 


You  only  need,  if  that's  the  case, 
Buy  me  a  hempen  cord, 

Ride  slowly  back  and  give  it  me, 
But  never  speak  a  word. 


Dammernd  liegt  der  Sommerabend 

Dimly  sinks  the  summer  evening 
Over  wood  and  over  meadow  ; 
And  the  golden  moon  shines  radiant, 
Balm  diffusing,  from  the  azure. 

By  the  brook  sings  loud  the  cricket, 
And  the  water  clear  is  troubled, 
And  you  hear  a  gentle  plashing, 
A  soft  breathing  through  the  stillness. 

By  the  brook,  alone,  see  yonder. 
Where  doth  bathe  the  lovely  Nixie  ; 
Arms  and  bosom,  white  and  dazzling, 
Gleaming  in  the  moon's  pale  silver. 


Nacht  liegt  auf  den  fremden  Wegen 

Night  lies  on  the  silent  highways. 
Sick  my  heart,  my  limbs  how  weary ; 

Then  like  gentle  balm  descendeth. 
Moon,  thy  soft  light  on  me  dreary. 

63 


%  Centurp  of  oPerman  Xpric^ 


Gentle  moon,  all  dread  nocturnal 

With  thy  sweet  light  thou  dost  banish  ; 

And  mine  eyes  with  tears  well  over, 
And  my  torments  melt  and  vanish. 


Almansor 
I. 

In  Cordova's  old  cathedral 
Thirteen  hundred  columns  tower; 
Thirteen  hundred  giant  columns 
Bear  the  cupola  stupendous. 

And  on  walls  and  domes  and  pillars, 
Run  in  quaint  design  and  tracery, 
From  the  roof  unto  the  basement, 
Passages  from  out  the  Koran. 

Moorish  monarchs  whilom  builded 
This  cathedral  unto  Allah 
And  his  praise,  but  much  has  altered 
In  the  vortex  dark  of  ages. 

On  the  tower  where  the  warden 
Called  to  prayer  the  Moslem  Faithful, 
Now  the  melancholy  droning 
Hum  of  Christian  bells  is  ringing. 
64 


On  the  steps  where  the  Believers 
Sung  the  praises  of  the  Prophet, 
Now  sleek  tonsured  priests  are  showing 
Their  stale  mass's  mawkish  marvel. 

Lo,  they  wriggle  and  they  posture 
'Fore  their  painted  gaudy  puppets  ; 
Incense,  tinkling,  quack,  and  gabble. 
And  the  silly  tapers  twinkle. 

In  Cordova's  old  cathedral 
Stands  Almansor  ben  Abdullah, 
Silent  looks  he  on  the  pillars. 
And  these  secret  words  he  mutters  : 

*'  Oh,  ye  columns,  strong  and  mighty, 
Once  adorned  in  praise  of  Allah  ! 
Serving,  ye  must  now  do  homage 
To  the  Christian  faith  detested. 

"  If  you're  so  accommodating, 
And  you  bear  your  load  in  patience. 
Why,  the  weaker  one  must  surely 
Likewise  know  how  to  conform  him. " 

And  behold,  with  smiling  features, 
Doth  Almansor  ben  Abdullah, 
O'er  the  font  embellished  bend  him, 
In  Cordova's  old  cathedral. 

65 


%  Century  of  o^ennan  X-pcic^ 


II. 

Hastily  he  leaves  the  transept, 
Sweeps  away  on  his  wild  charger. 
And  his  wet  locks  in  the  breezes, 
And  his  hat's  black  plumes  are  flying. 

On  the  way  to  Alkolea, 

All  along  the  Guadalquivir, 

\\Tiere  the  almonds  white  are  blowing, 

And  the  orange,  rich  and  yellow  ; 

There  doth  ride  the  knight  full  cheerly, 
Whistling,  singing,  laughhig  gaily, 
And  the  birds  around  join  chorus, 
With  the  river's  many  waters. 

In  the  halls  of  Alkolea, 
Dwelleth  Clara  of  Alveras, 
In  Navarre  fights  now  her  father. 
And  from  less  restraint  she  suffers. 

From  afar  doth  hear  Almansor 
Kettledrum  and  trumpet  braying, 
And  he  sees  the  castle's  torches 
Flashing  through  the  forest  shadows. 

In  the  halls  of  Alkolea 
Dance  twelve  ladies,  bright  and  beauteous. 
Dance  twelve  handsome  knights  and  gallant- 
Best  of  all  Almansor  dances. 

66 


As  though  winged  by  buoyant  spirits 
He  around  the  room  doth  flutter, 
And  with  words  of  sweetest  flatt'ry 
He  doth  whisper  every  lady. 

The  fair  hands  of  Isabella 
He  doth  kiss,  away  quick  darting  ; 
Then  sits  down  before  Elvira, 
In  her  face  with  rapture  gazing. 

Laughing,  he  asks  Leonora, 
Whether  he  to-day  doth  please  her  ? 
And  he  shows  the  golden  crosses 
Newly  broidered  in  his  mantle. 

Lastly,  he  assures  each  lady 
In  his  heart  her  image  liveth  : 
And,  "as  true  as  I'm  a  Christian,' 
Swears  he  thirty  times  that  evening. 


III. 
In  the  halls  of  Alkolea 
Jest  and  laughter  now  are  silent, 
Vanished  are  the  lords  and  ladies, 
And  the  lights  are  all  extinguished. 

Donna  Clara  and  Almansor 
Are  alone  in  the  wide  chamber  ; 
Lonely  sheds  the  last  dim  taper 
On  the  twain  its  mournful  radiance. 
67 


%  Centurp  of  ^i^crman  %pric^ 


On  the  settle  sits  the  lady, 
On  a  stool  the  knight  before  her, 
And  his  head,  with  slumber  heavy, 
Rests  upon  her  knees  beloved. 

Oil  of  roses  from  gold  flasket, 
Pours  the  lady,  fond  and  anxious, 
On  the  dark  locks  of  Almansor — 
And,  behold,  he  sigheth  deeply. 

Sweetest  kiss,  with  lips  so  tender, 
Breathes  the  lady,  fond  and  anxious, 
On  the  dark  locks  of  Almansor — 
And,  behold,  his  brow  clouds  over. 

Brightest  shower,  from  eyes  so  shining, 
"Weeps  the  lady,  fond  and  anxious, 
On  the  dark  locks  of  Almansor — 
And,  behold,  his  lips  they  quiver. 

And  he  dreams  :  again  he  standeth. 
With  bowed  head,  all  wet  and  dripping. 
In  Cordova's  old  cathedral, 
And  he  hears  dark  voices  many. 

All  the  lofty  giant  columns 
He  hears  muttering,  grimly  wrathful, 
That  they  will  not  bear  it  longer, — 
And  they  tremble  and  they  totter  ; — 
68 


Ifeinc 

And  they  fiercely  crack  and  crumble  ; 
Pale  as  death  grow  priest  and  people  ; 
^Yith  wild  crash  the  dome  o'erwhelmeth, 
And  the  Christian  gods  are  wailing. 


Leise  zieht  durch  mein  Gemiith 

Soft  and  gently  through  my  soul 

Sweetest  bells  are  ringing  ; 
Speed  you  forth,  my  little  song, 

Of  spring-time  gaily  singing  ! 

Speed  you  onward  to  a  house 

Where  sweet  flowers  are  fleeting  ! 

If,  perchance,  a  rose  you  see, 
Say,  I  send  her  greeting  ! 


Der  Schmetterling  ist  in  die  Rose  verliebt 

The  butterfly  is  in  love  with  the  rose. 

And  hovers  around  her  alway ; 
But  a  golden  sunbeam  loves  him  again, 

And  flutters  around  him  all  day. 

But  tell  me  with  whom  is  the  rose  in  love  ? 

That  would  I  know  sooner  by  far  ; 
Or  is  it  the  singing  nightingale, 

Or  the  silent  evening  star  ? 

69 


%  Century  of  overman  %uric^ 


I  know  not  witli  whom  is  the  rose  in  love  ; 

But  I  love  you  all  as  ye  are  : 
The  butterfly,  sunbeam,  and  nightingale, 

The  rose,  and  the  evening  star. 


Es  war  ein  alter  Koenig 

Was  once  an  ancient  monarch, 
Heavy  his  heart,  his  locks  were  gray  ; 
This  poor  and  aged  monarch 
Took  a  wife  so  young  and  gay. 

Was  once  a  page-boy  handsome. 
With  lightsome  heart  and  curly  hair  ; 
The  silken  train  he  carried 
Of  the  Queen  so  young  and  fair. 

Dost  know  the  old  old  story  ? 
It  sounds  so  sweet,  so  sad  to  tell — 
Both  were  obliged  to  perish, 
They  loved  each  other  too  well. 


Mit  schwarzen  Segeln  segelt  mein  Schiff 

With  gloomy  sails  my  ship  doth  fly 

Far  over  the  stormy  main  ; 
You  know  how  woe  of  heart  I  am, 

And  yet  you  cause  my  pain. 
70 


Your  heart  is  faithless  as  the  wind, 

Veering  like  any  vane  ; 
With  gloomy  sails  my  ship  doth  fly 

Far  over  the  stormy  main. 


Clarissa 

"  Es  kommt  zu  spat  was  Du  mir  lachelst " 

Too  late  come  now  your  smiles  of  promise, 
Alas  !  they  come  too  late,  your  sighs  ! 

Long  time  has  died  the  love  within  me 
You  cruelly  once  did  despise. 

Too  late  comes  now  your  love  and  tardy  ! 

And  all  your  ardent  glances  fall 
Upon  a  heart,  cold,  irresponsive, 

Like  sunshine  on  a  grave  withal. 

*  *  *  * 

One  thing  I'd  know  :  when  we  have  perished, 
Where  is  it  that  our  soul  doth  go  ? 

Where  is  the  fire  that  is  extinguished  ? 
Where  is  the  wind  but  now  did  blow  ? 


71 


%  Centurp  of  oBerman  %nric^ 
Katharine 

"  Ein  schoener  Stern  geht  auf  in  meiner  Nacht  " 

A  STAR  dawns  beauteous  in  my  gloomy  night, 
A  star,  that  sheds  sweet  comfort  with  its  light, 
Promising  me  new  life  and  joy, — 
Ah,  do  not  lie  ! 

Like  as  the  ocean  to  the  moon  swells  free, 
So  mounts  my  soul,  daring  and  glad  to  thee, 
To  thee,  and  to  thy  light  of  joy, — 
Ah,  do  not  lie  ! 


Desist 

The  day  with  night  is  in  love. 
And  spring  is  in  love  with  winter, 
Life  is  enamoured  of  death, — 
And  thou,  thou  lovest  me  ! 

Thou  lovest  me — already  dread 
And  gruesome  shadows  seize  thee, 
All  thy  fresh  beauty  fades, 
To  death  thy  soul  is  bleeding. 
72 


lletne 

Desist  from  me,  and  only  love 
The  butterflies  that  flutter 
Careless  and  lightsome  in  the  sun,- 
Desist  from  me  and  from  ruin. 


Heinrich 

In  the  courtyard  of  Canossa 
Stands  the  German  Emperor  Heinrich, 
Barefoot  and  in  shirt  of  penance. 
And  the  night  is  cold  and  rainy. 

Peering  from  an  upper  window 

Twain  look  down,  while  glints  the  moonlight 

On  the  bald  pate  of  Gregorius 

And  the  white  breasts  of  Mathildis. 

Heinrich  he,  with  lips  all  pallid, 
Murmurs  pious  paternosters, 
But  within  his  heart  of  emperor. 
Secretly  he  chafes  and  gnashes  : 

*'  Far  off,  in  my  German  country. 
Rise  those  strong  and  sturdy  mountains, 
And  in  shafts  so  still  and  silent. 
Grows  the  iron  for  a  war-axe. 

73 


SC  Centurp  of  overman  %pric?? 


"  Far  off,  in  my  German  countr>', 
Rustle  mighty  oaken  forests, 
And  within  the  tallest  oak  stems 
Grows  the  wood  for  this  same  war-axe. 

"  Thou,  my  loved  and  trusty  country, 
Thou,  too,  shall  bring  forth  the  champion 
Who  shall  smite  down  with  his  war-axe 
Yonder  serpent  of  my  torments." 


Mittelalterliche  Roheit 

Rude  mediaeval  barbarism 
To  fine  arts  is  slowly  yielding  ; 
Chief  machine  of  modern  culture 
Is  undoubtedly  the  piano. 

Railways,  too,  a  wholesome  influence 
Exercise  on  home  life,  surely, 
For  they  render  it  so  easy 
From  one's  family  to  fly. 

What  a  pity  that  my  spinal 
Illness  renders  it  unlikely 
That  I  shall  remain  much  longer 
In  this  fast  progressive  world  ? 


74 


I|eine 


THE   NORTH   SEA 

First   Part 

Coronation 

0  SONGS  !  ye  my  good  songs  ! 
Arise,  your  armour  don  ! 

Let  the  trumpet  sound  forth, 

And  raise  me  on  shield 

This  fair  young  maiden, 

Who  now  shall  reign  over 

My  whole  heart  as  Queen  ! 

Hail  to  thee,  O  thou  fair  young  Queen  ! 

From  the  sun  up  above 

1  will  tear  out  the  dazzling  red  gold, 
And  will  weave  therefrom  a  diadem 
For  thy  consecrated  head  ; 

From  the  fluttering  blue  silken  tent  of  heaven, 
Wherein  flash  the  diamonds  of  night, 
I  will  cut  thee  a  costly  garment, 
And  will  hang  it  as  royal  mantle 
Around  thy  regal  shoulders. 

I  will  give  thee  a  court-state 
Of  primly  bedight  sonnets, 

75 


SC  Ccnturp  of  a^erman  Xpric^ 


Of  haughty  terzines  and  of  courtly  stanzas  ; 

My  wit  shall  attend  thee  as  footman, 

As  jester  my  imagination, 

While  as  herald,  the  tearful  smile  in  escutcheon, 

My  humour  shall  serve  thee. 

But  myself,  O  Queen, 

Will  kneel  down  before  thee, 

And  present  to  thee  on  purple  velvet — 

In  deepest  homage. 

The  little  sense 

Which  thy  fair  predecessor 

In  mercy  hath  left  me. 


Twilight 

By  the  dim  sea-shore 

Lonely  I  jat,  and  thought-afiflicted. 

The  sun  sank  low,  and  sinking  he  shed 

Rose  and  vermilion  upon  the  waters, 

And  the  white  foaming  waves, 

Urged  on  by  the  tide, 

Foamed  and  murmured  yet  nearer  and  nearer — 

A  curious  jumble  of  whispering  and  wailing, 

Of  soft  rippling  laughter  and  sobbing  and  sighing, 

And  in  between  all  a  low  lullaby  singing. 

Methought  I  heard  ancient  forgotten  legends 

And  world-old  sweet  stories, 

Which  once  as  a  boy 

76 


Heine 

I  heard  from  my  playmates, 

WTien,  of  a  summer's  evening, 

We  crouched  down  to  tell  stories 

On  the  stones  of  the  doorstep, 

With  small  listening  hearts. 

And  bright  curious  eyes  ; 

While  the  big  grown-up  girls 

Were  sitting  opposite 

At  flowery  and  fragrant  windows, 

Their  rosy  faces 

Smiling  and  moonshine-illumined. 


Sunset 

The  red  and  glowing  sun  descends 

Into  the  silver-gray  shuddering  ocean, 

That  ripples  and  heaves  from  its  depth  to  receive  it ; 

Airy  images,  tenderly  flushed, 

Glide  gently  after  ;  while  just  opposite 

From  autumnly  drift  of  sad  dim  clouds 

Breaks  forth  the  moon, 

A  pale  face  and  deathlike  ; 

Behind  her,  as  tiny  sparks,  the  stars 

Ghmmer  faintly  through  nebulous  space. 

Once  united  in  the  high  heavens, 
Beamed  in  conjugal  radiance 
Luna,  the  goddess,  and  Sol,  the  god, 

77 


%  Centurp  of  overman  %pric^ 

And  round  them  clustered  the  stars, 

Their  little  innocent  children. 

But  sland'rous  tongues  whispered  discord  and  evil, 

And  the  bright  and  exalted  couple 

Parted  in  anger. 

Now  in  the  day-time,  in  lonely  glory. 

Parades  on  high  the  God  of  the  Sun, 

Adored  and  much  lauded 

For  his  fierce  splendour, 

By  proud  men,  hardened  by  fortune. 

But  in  the  night 

Luna  moves  o'er  the  sky, 

The  forsaken  mother, 

With  her  starry  band  of  orphan  children, 

And  she  beams  with  soft  melancholy. 

And  loving  maidens  and  gentle  poets 

Offer  her  tears  and  ditties. 

Poor  tender  Luna  !    Womanlike  loves  she, 
Loves  without  ceasing  her  handsome  husband  ; 
And,  towards  evening,  all  trembling  and  pale, 
You  see  her  peering  from  fleecy  clouds, 
And  gazing  with  aching  heart 
On  the  Departing  ;  and  fain  would  she  cry 
Anxiously  :   "  Come  ! 
Come,  the  children  are  calling  for  you — " 
But  the  Sun-god,  proud  and  obdurate. 
At  sight  of  his  wife, 

78 


I|eine 

Flushes  a  yet  deeper  purple 

With  anger  and  grief, 

And  unrelenting  he  hastens  down 

To  his  cold  and  watery  widower's  bed. 

«  *  *  * 

Evil  and  slanderous  tongues 

Thus  brought  pain  and  disaster. 

Even  on  immortal  gods  ; 

And  the  wretched  gods,  high  up  in  the  heavens, 

Pursue  in  anguish 

And  endless  despair 

Their  dreary  course, 

And  cannot  die. 

And  ever  drag  with  them 

Their  radiant  sorrow. 

But  I,  a  man  only, 

Lowly  born  and  death-favoured, 

Complain  no  longer. 


The  Night  on  the  Beach 

Starless  and  cold  is  the  night ; 
Old  Ocean  yawns, 

And  flat  on  the  ocean,  upon  his  belly, 
Squats  the  uncouth  North  Wind  ; 
And  stealthily  croaking,  with  groan  and  with  grunt, 
Like  a  crotchety  grumbler  waxing  good-humoured, 

79 


%  Centui'p  0f  overman  %yric^ 


He  babbles  into  the  waters 

Mad  tales  without  number  ; 

Tales  of  giants,  breathing  of  slaughter, 

And  world-old  stories  of  Norway  ; 

And  ever  between  he  laughs,  and  howls  out 

Incantations  from  Edda 

And  ancient  Runes, 

So  darkly  defiant  and  potent  of  spell 

That  the  white  ocean  children 

Leap  up  high  and  exulting 

In  turbulent  frenzy. 

Meanwhile,  on  the  flat  lone  shore, 
O'er  the  tide-washed  sands, 
Strides  a  stranger  whose  throbbing  heart 
Beats  yet  wilder  than  wind  and  waves. 
Whither  he  treads 

Sparks  fly,  and  shells  crunch  beneath  him  ; 
And  he  wraps  him  up  in  his  sombre  mantle, 
And  strides  on  fast  through  the  wind  and  the  night, 
Safely  led  by  the  glimmering  taper. 
That  beckons  so  sweetly  inviting 
From  the  fisherman's  lonely  cottage. 

Father  and  brothers  are  out  at  sea, 
And  all  alone  by  herself  was  left 
In  the  cottage  the  fisherman's  daughter, 
The  wondrously  beautiful  fisherman's  daughter. 
By  the  hearth  sits  she, 

80 


And  lists  to  the  kettle's 

Drowsy  song,  full  of  sweet  promise  ; 

Fuel  and  sticks  she  adds  to  the  fire, 

And  blows  thereon, 

And  the  flickering  red  light 

As  by  magic  illumines 

Her  blooming  features, 

And  her  tender  white  shoulder 

That  peeps  forth  pathetic 

From  coarse  linen  kirtle, 

And  illumines,  too,  her  small  hand. 

Carefully  tying  yet  faster  her  garments 

Round  her  slender  waist. 

But  on  a  sudden  the  door  springs  open. 
And  there  enters  the  stranger  nocturnal ; 
Full  and  assured  of  love 
Rests  his  eye  on  the  fair  slight  maiden, 
Who  trembles  before  him 
Like  unto  a  frightened  lily  ; 
And  he  throws  his  cloak  on  the  ground, 
Aud  he  laughs  and  says  : 
"Look  you,  my  child,  I  have  kept  my  word, 
And  I  come,  and  there  comes 
Unto  me  the  old  time 
WTien  the  gods  descended  from  heaven 
Unto  the  daughters  of  men, 
And  embraced  the  daughters  of  men, 
And  begat  with  them 

8i 


%  Century  of  o^ecman  %yric^ 

Sceptre-bearing  races  of  Kings, 

And  Heroes,  world-renowned. 

But  stand  not  amazed,  my  child,  any  longer 

At  my  divinity. 

But  give  me  some  tea  with  hot  rum,  I  beseech  you. 

For  it's  cold  outside. 

And  on  such  a  raw  night 

Even  we  shiver,  we  gods  eternal, 

And  easily  catch  we  most  heavenly  colds, 

And  coughs  divinely  immortal." 


Poseidon 

The  sunbeams  were  playing 
Lightly  over  the  billowy  ocean  ; 
Far  out  at  sea  I  saw  shining  the  ship 
That  was  to  bear  me  homewards  ; 
But  the  right  wind  as  yet  was  wanting. 
And  tranquilly  on  the  white  sands  I  was  sitting 
By  the  lonely  sea. 
And  I  read  the  song  of  Ulysses, 
That  old,  that  ever  youthful  song, 
From  whose  ocean-murmuring  leaves 
Rose  joyfully 
The  breath  of  the  gods. 
And  the  sunny  spring  of  mankind. 
And  the  cloudless  sky  of  fair  Hellas. 

82 


J 


My  noble  and  faithful  heart  accompanied 
The  son  of  Laertes  in  toil  and  disaster  : 
It  sat  down  with  him,  grieving  in  spirit, 
At  kindly  hearths, 

Where  queens  sat  spinning  deep  rich  purple  ; 
It  helped  him  to  lie  and  to  escape  deftly 
From  giants'  caves  and  from  nymphs'  white  arms ; 
It  followed  him  into  Kimmerian  night. 
Through  storm  and  through  shipwreck. 
And  suffered  with  him  unspeakable  anguish. 

Sighing  said  I,  "  Revengeful  Poseidon, 
Thy  anger  is  awful, 
And  myself  am  afraid 
Of  my  own  return  home." 

Scarcely  had  I  spoken  the  words, 
When  the  sea  foamed  up  high. 
And  from  the  white-crested  billows  arose 
The  head  of  the  god,  crowned  with  sea-weed, 
And  cried  he,  contemptuous  : 

"Fear  not,  my  dear  little  Poet  ! 
I've  no  intention  to  harm  in  the  least 
Thy  poor  little  bark. 

Nor  frighten  thee  out  of  thy  poor  little  wits 
With  too  boist'rous  a  rocking  : 
For  thou,  little  Poet,  hast  never  incensed  me 
Thou  never  hast  shaken  the  smallest  turret 

83 


%  Centurji  of  overman  Xycic^ 

Of  the  holy  city  of  Priam  ; 

Nor  hast  thou  singed  e'en  a  single  hair 

From  the  eye  of  my  son  Polyphemus  ; 

And  never  as  yet  has  the  Goddess  of  Wisdom, 

Pallas  Athense,  stood  counselling  beside  thee." 

Thus  cried  out  Poseidon, 
And  dived  back  into  the  ocean  ; 
And  at  the  vulgar  old  sailor's  joke 
I  heard  Amphitrite,  the  coarse  fish-woman, 
And  the  silly  daughters  of  Nereus, 
Giggling  beneath  the  waters. 


I 


Declaration 

The  evening  shadows  fell  dim  and  sad, 

Roughly  the  tide  tumbled  in. 

And  I  sat  on  the  beach  and  gazed 

On  the  white  dance  of  waters  ; 

And  yearning,  I  felt  a  deep  wistful  longing 

For  thee,  thou  dear  Image, 

That  followest  me  ever, 

And  callest  me  ever, 

Always  and  ever, 

In  the  blast  of  the  wind,  in  the  roar  of  the  sea, 

In  the  sighing  of  my  own  heart. 

i 


With  slender  reed  I  wrote  on  the  sand  : 
"Agnes  !  I  love  you  !  " 
But  unkind  waves  crept  up  and  washed  over 
The  sweet  confession 
And  blotted  it  out. 

Thou  brittle  reed,  thou  wild-whirling  sand, 
Ye  dissolving  billows,  I  trust  ye  no  longer  ! 
The  sky  grows  darker,  my  heart  throbs  wilder, 
And  with  strong  hand,  from  the  forests  of  Norway, 
I  tear  out  the  loftiest  pine  ; 
And  I  dip  it  into 

The  red-hot  glowing  crater  of  Etna, 
And  with  this  fiery  pen  and  gigantic 
I  write  on  the  dark  vault  of  heaven  : 
"Agnes  !  I  love  you  !  " 

Thus  every  night,  blazing  shall  flare 
On  high  my  eternal  letters  of  flame, 
And  all  generations  to  come  hereafter 
Shall  read,  exulting,  the  rapturous  words  : 
"Agnes  !  I  love  you  !" 


At  Night  in  the  Cabin 

Its  pearls  doth  have  the  o«ean, 
And  heaven  hath  its  stars, 

But  oh,  my  heart,  my  heart. 
My  heart  doth  have  its  love. 
85 


%  Century  of  o^trman  X-pricij 


Large  is  the  ocean  and  heaven, 

But  larger  is  my  own  heart, 
And  fairer  than  pearls  and  stars 

Flashes  and  beams  my  love. 

Thou  young,  thou  sweet  young  maiden, 
Come  to  my  swelling  heart ; 

My  heart,  the  sea,  and  the  heavens, 
Are  melting  for  very  love. 

*  *  *  « 

Fain  I'd  press  my  lips  in  anguish. 
Wildly  press  them,  wildly  weeping, 
On  the  dark  blue  vault  of  heaven. 
Where  the  bright-eyed  stars  are  shining. 

For  yon  stars  so  brightly  shining 
Are  the  eyes  of  my  Beloved, 
And  a  thousandfold  they  greet  me 
From  the  dark  blue  vault  of  heaven. 

To  the  dark  blue  vault  of  heaven, 
To  the  eyes  of  my  Beloved, 
Both  my  hands  I  lift  devoutly, 
And  I  pray,  and  I  petition  : 

"  Beauteous  eyes,  ye  gracious  tapers, 
Consecrate  my  soul  and  bless  it ; 
Let  me  die,  and  thus  acquire 
You  and  all  the  heaven  within  you  !  " 


86 


From  those  heavenly  eyes  above  me 
Golden  sparks  fall  trembling  downwards, 
And  my  soul  expands  with  longing, 
Evermore  with  love  and  longing. 

Oh,  ye  heavenly  eyes  above  me, 
Inundate  my  soul  with  weeping, 
That  my  spirit  may  run  over 
With  the  bright  and  starry  shower. 
*  *  *  * 

Lulled  to  rest  by  ocean  billows, 
And  by  dreamy  thoughts  that  wander, 
Calm  I  lie  within  the  cabin, 
In  the  dark  berth  in  the  corner. 

Through  the  open  porthole  gazing, 
Bright  I  see  the  stars  above  me. 
Those  beloved  eyes  and  tender 
Of  my  sweet  and  Well-Beloved. 

Those  beloved  eyes  and  tender 
Brightly  watch  and  guard  my  pillow, 
And  they  glimmer  and  they  shimmer 
In  the  dark  blue  vault  of  heaven. 

Towards  the  dark  blue  vault  of  heaven 
Rapt  I  gaze  for  many  an  hour, 
Till  a  silver  veil  of  sea-mist, 
Envious,  hides  those  dear  eyes  from  me. 
»  *  «  « 

^7 


%  Centucp  of  overman  %yric^ 


Against  the  wooden  planking 

Where  lies  my  dreaming  head, 

Dash  the  billows,  the  boisterous  billows  ; 

They  ripple  and  murmur, 

Softly  whispering  mine  ear  : 

"  Deluded  fool  ! 

Your  arm  is  short,  and  the  heavens  are  far  off, 

And  the  stars  up  above  are  riveted  fast 

With  golden  nails, — 

Idle  yearning  and  idle  sighing, 

'Twere  best  for  you  to  go  to  sleep." 

*  *  *  * 

In  dreams  I  saw  a  plain  immense  and  dreary, 
Deep  covered  o'er  with  silent  driven  snow  ; 

And  underneath  the  snow  myself  lay  buried, 
And  slept  the  cold  and  lonely  sleep  of  death. 

But  from  the  dark  blue  heavens  above  down -gleaming 
Upon  my  grave,  the  starry  eyes  were  shining, 

Those  tender  eyes  !    And  lo,  they  beam  in  triumph 
And  gladness  calm,  and,  too,  in  Love  unbounded. 


Storm 

Fierce  rages  the  storm, 

And  it  lashes  the  waves, 

And  the  waves,  wild  furious  and  boiling, 

Tower  tunmltuous,  white  water-mountains, 


I 

\ 


i 


Igeine 

Heaving  with  angry  life  ; 

And  the  frail  bark  climbs  them 

With  arduous  haste, 

And  sudden  it  dashes  deep  down 

Into  black  and  cavernous  abysses  of  billows. 

O  Sea  ! 
Mother  of  Beauty,  the  foam-born  Goddess  ! 
Grandmother  of  Love  !    I  pray  you  to  spare  me  ! 
Already  hovers  o'erhead,  scenting  corpses, 
The  ghostly  white  sea-mew. 
And  whets  on  the  mast  her  cmel  beak, 
x\nd  eagerly  lusts  for  the  heart 
\Miich  rings  of  the  praise  of  thy  daughter, 
And  which  thy  grandson,  the  little  rogue. 
Has  chosen  as  plaything. 

In  vain  my  entreaties  and  prayers  ! 
My  cry  dies  away  in  the  rushing  storm, 
In  the  battle-cry  of  the  winds. 
They  bluster  and  pipe  and  bellow  and  roar, 
Like  a  INIadhouse  of  Sound  ! 
And,  in  between,  I  distinctly  can  hear 
Siren  harp-strains, 
And  yearning  wild  song  ; 
Song  soul-melting  and  song  soul-rending, 
And  I  recognize,  too,  the  voice. 

Far  away,  on  the  rocky  coast  of  Scotland, 
A  grey  old  castle  boldly  juts  out 

89 


SC  Century  of  (J5erman  %yric^ 


Over  the  boiling  tide  ; 

There,  by  a  vaulted  oriel  window 

Stands  a  beautiful  woman, 

Fragile  and  delicate,  pale  as  death. 

And  she  strikes  her  harp  and  sings, 

And  the  storm  dishevels  her  long  wild  tresses, 

And  bears  away  her  gloomy  song 

Far  over  the  raging  waste  of  waters. 


Ocean  Calm 

Deep  repose  lies  on  the  ocean, 
And  the  sun  sheds  down  his  radiance ; 
Through  the  flashing  waves  like  jewels 
Draws  the  ship  her  emerald  furrows. 

Near  the  wheel  doth  lie  the  boatswain, 
Sleeping  sweetly,  snoring  softly  ; 
By  the  masts  sits,  tarred  and  spattered, 
Mending  sails,  the  cabin  boy. 

From  his  cheeks,  begrimed  and  dirty, 
Flashes  forth  a  tell-tale  scarlet. 
Sadly  his  wide  mouth  is  quivering. 
And  his  fine  eyes  have  been  weeping. 

For  the  captain  stands  before  him. 
Scolding,  railing,  swearing  roundly  : 

90 


"  Greedy  pilferer  !  thou  hast  basely 
Stolen  a  herring  from  my  barrel ! " 

Calm  the  ocean  !  from  the  billows 
Leaps  a  merry  little  spratling, 
Warms  its  small  head  in  the  sunshine, 
Whisks  its  little  tail  so  frisky. 

But  a  gull  from  out  its  eyry 
Darts  upon  that  frisky  spratling, 
And  her  rapid  prey  fast  seizing, 
Soars  again  into  the  azure. 


Sea-Vision 

But  I  lay  at  the  edge  of  the  vessel, 
And  gazed  with  eye  that  was  dreaming 
Down  into  the  clear  crystal  water, 
And  gazed  down  deeper  and  deeper 
Till  far  on  the  ground  of  the  ocean, 
At  first  like  mists  of  twilight, 
But  soon  more  defined  in  colour  and  substance. 
Domes  of  churches  appeared  and  steeples, 
And  at  length,  clear  as  day,  an  entire  town  ; 
Antiquated,  Netherlandish, 
And  thronged  with  people. 
Solemn  men,  draped  in  black  mantles, 
With  snowy  neck  ruffs  and  chains  of  honour, 

91 


%  Century  of  overman  %imt^ 


With  rapiers  long,  and  eke  long  faces, 

Soberly  cross  the  swarming  market 

To  the  Town-hall,  ascended  by  lofty  steps, 

Where  Imperial  statues  of  stone 

Guard  entrance  with  sceptre  and  sword. 

Not  far  off,  before  long  row  of  houses. 

Where  lindens,  cut  into  shapes  fantastic, 

Are  mirrored  in  glittering  windows, 

Maidens  walk  in  rustling  silk  garments, — 

Slim  young  girls,  their  fresh  flower-faces 

Demurely  inclosed  by  modest  black  coifs. 

And  waving  tresses  of  gold  ; 

Gay  young  fellows,  in  Spanish  costume, 

Swagger  by,  haughtily  nodding  ; 

Aged  women, 

In  brown  old-fashioned  dresses, 

Carrying  rosaries  and  prayer-books, 

Hasten  with  faltering  steps 

To  the  great  Cathedral, 

Urged  on  by  the  peal  of  the  organ. 

And  by  the  clanging  of  bells. 

Myself  am  moved  by  the  secret 
Mysterious  power  of  the  distant  strain  : 
An  infinite  yearning,  a  sorrow  profound 
Steals  o'er  my  heart. 
My  scarcely  healed  heart ; — 
I  feel  as  though  its  wounds  were  kissed  open 
Once  more  by  beloved  lips, 

92 


I 


And  that  again  they  were  bleeding 

Red  warm  drops  of  blood, 

Which  trickle  down  slow  and  slowly 

Upon  an  old  mansion  below 

In  the  deep  ocean  city  ; 

Upon  a  dreary  old  gabled  mansion, 

That  stands  in  sad  drear  solitude, 

Save  that  at  a  lower  window 

A  girl  is  sitting, 

Leaning  her  head  on  her  hand, 

Like  a  poor  and  forgotten  child — 

And  I  know  thee,  thou  poor  and  forgotten  child  ! 

So  deep  then,  even  as  deep  as  ocean, 
Didst  thou  hide  from  me 
In  childish  caprice, 
And  couldst  return  again  never, 
And  sattest,  a  stranger  among  strange  people. 
For  centuries ! 

The  while  I,  with  sorrowing  soul. 
The  wide  world  over  have  sought  thee, 
Aye,  without  ceasing  have  sought  thee, 
Thou  ever  loved  one, 
Oh,  thou  long  lost  one, 
At  last  found  again  ! 

And  now  I  have  found  thee,  again  I  behold 
Thy  sweet  fair  face, 
And  those  grave  earnest  eyes. 
And  the  dear  old  smile — 

93 


%  vCenturp  of  overman  %jiric^ 


And  never,  never  again  will  I  leave  thee, 

And  I  am  coming  to  thee, 

And  with  open  arms 

Let  me  sink  to  thy  heart 

But  just  in  the  nick  of  time 
The  Captain  seized  hold  of  my  foot, 
And  pulled  me  away  from  the  edge  of  the  vessel, 
And  cried,  vexatiously  laughing  : 
"  What  the  deuce,  my  dear  sir,  are  you  up  to  ?" 


Cleansing 

Stay  thou  below  in  thy  ocean  depths, 
Delirious  Dream, 
That  once,  ah,  many  a  night. 
Hast  tormented  my  heart  with  false  happiness, 
And  to-day,  as  Sea  Phantom 
Doth  threaten  me  even  in  broad  daylight  ! — 
Stay  thou  below,  for  ever  and  ever. 
And  I  will  throw  down  to  thee  still 
All  my  anguish  and  sin, 
And  the  foolscap  of  folly 
Which  has  jingled  long  time  round  my  head  ; 
And  the  cold  glittering  snake-skin 
Of  hypocrisy. 

Which  was  coiled  long  time  round  my  soul, 

94 


My  poisoned  soul, 

My  God-denying,  angel-denying, 

Most  wretched  soul  ! 

Yoho  !  yoho  !    Here  comes  the  wind  ! 

Hoist  up  the  sails  !  they  flap  and  they  swell  ! 

O'er  the  calmly-fatal  expanse 

The  good  ship  flies, 

And,  delivered,  the  Soul  shouts  exulting. 


Peace 

The  sun  stood  high  in  the  heavens. 

White-robed  in  masses  of  cloud  ; 

The  ocean  was  calm, 

And  musing  I  lay  by  the  helm  of  the  vessel, 

Dreamily  pondering, — and  half  in  waking 

And  half  in  sleeping,  Christ  I  beheld. 

The  world's  Redeemer  ; 

In  white  waving  vesture. 

He  strode,  a  giant  form. 

Over  land  and  sea ; 

His  head  touched  unto  the  heavens, 

His  hands  He  stretched  out,  blessing, 

Over  land  and  sea  : 

And  lo,  as  heart  in  His  breast 

He  carried  the  sun, 

The  red  flaming  sun  ; 

95 


%  Century  Df  overman  %yrir^ 

And  the  red  flaming  Sun-Heart 
Poured  its  tender  beams  of  grace, 
Illuming  and  warming, 
Over  land  and  sea. 

Pealing  bells  rang  clearly  and  sweetly, 
Drawing,  as  with  garlands  of  roses, 
Drawing,  swanlike,  the  gliding  ship 
Lightly,  playfully  to  the  green  shore, 
Where  men  are  living  in  yon  high-towered 
And  steepled  city. 

Oh,  wonder  of  Peace  !    How  hushed  the  town  ! 
The  jarring  din  of  noisy  tradescrafts 
Has  ceased  in  stifling  buildings  and  shops  ; 
And  through  the  clean  echoing  streets 
Wander  people  all  clad  in  white, 
And  bearing  branches  of  palm  ; 
And  where  two  meet, 

They  gaze  on  each  other  in  brotherly  kindness 
And  trembling  with  love  and  with  sweet  resignation, 
Each  kisses  each  on  the  brow  ; 
And  they  lift  up  their  eyes 
To  the  Saviour's  Sun- Heart, 
That  flashes  down  in  glad  atonement 
Its  precious  blood  ; 
And  thrice  blessed  they  say  : 
Praised  be  Jesus  Christ." 


96 


Xfcinc 


Second  Part 
Good- Morrow 

Thalatta  !  Thalatta  ! 

Hail  to  thee,  thou  eternal  sea  ! 

Hail  to  thee,  ten  thousand  times,  hail  ! 

With  rejoicing  heart 

I  bid  thee  welcome. 

As  once,  long  ago,  did  welcome  thee 

Ten  thousand  Greek  hearts, 

Hardship-battling,  homesick-yearning, 

World-renowned  Greek  hearts. 

The  billows  surged, 
They  foamed  and  murmured. 
The  sun  poured  down,  as  in  haste, 
Flickering  ripples  of  rosy  light ; 
Long  strings  of  frightened  seagulls 
Flutter  away  shrill  screaming  ; 
War-horses  trample,  and  shields  clash  loudly, 
And  far  resounds  the  triumphant  cry  : 
Thalatta  !    Thalatta  ! 

Hail  to  thee,  thou  eternal  sea  ! 
Like  accents  of  home  thy  waters  are  whispering, 
And  dreams  of  childhood  lustrous  I  see 
Through  thy  limpid  and  crystalline  wave  ; 

97  H 


%  Ctnturp  of  overman  %^tit§ 


Calling  to  mind  the  dear  old  memories 

Of  dear  and  delightful  toys, 

Of  all  the  glittering  Christmas  presents, 

Of  all  the  red-branched  forests  of  coral, 

The  pearls,  the  goldfish  and  bright-coloured  shells, 

Which  thou  dost  hide  mysteriously 

Deep  down  in  thy  clear  house  of  crystal. 

Oh,  how  have  I  languished  in  dreary  exile  ! 
Like  unto  a  withered  flower 
In  the  botanist's  capsule  of  tin, 
My  heart  lay  dead  in  my  breast. 
Methought  I  was  prisoned  a  long  sad  winter, 
A  sick  man  kept  in  a  darkened  chamber ; 
And  now  I  suddenly  leave  it, 
And  outside  meets  me  the  dazzling  Spring, 
Tenderly  verdant  and  sun-awakened  ; 
And  rustling  trees  shed  snowy  petals, 
And  tender  young  flowers  gaze  on  me 
With  their  bright  fragrant  eyes  ; 
And  the  air  is  full  of  laughter  and  gladness. 
And  rich  with  the  breath  of  blossoms, 
And  in  the  blue  sky  the  birds  are  singing — 
Thalatta  !  Thalatta  ! 

Oh,  my  brave  Anabasis-heart  ! 
How  often,  ah  !  how  sadly  often 

Wast  thou  pressed  hard  by  the  North's  fair  Barbarians  ! 
From  large  and  conquering  eyes 

98 


They  shot  forth  burning  arrows  ; 

With  crooked  words  as  sharp  as  a  rapier 

They  threatened  to  pierce  my  bosom  ; 

With  cuneiform  angular  missives  they  battered 

My  poor  stunned  brains  ; 

In  vain  I  held  out  my  shield  for  protection, 

The  arrows  hissed  and  the  blows  rained  down, 

And  hard  pressed  I  was  pushed  to  the  sea 

By  the  North's  fair  Barbarians, — 

And  breathing  freely,  I  greet  the  sea, 

The  sea  my  deliverer,  the  sea  my  friend, 

Thalatta  !    Thalatta  ! 


The  Thunderstorm 

Lurid  the  thunderstorm  lies  on  the  ocean, 
And  through  the  banks  of  black  cloud 
Flashes  the  red -forked  lightning, 
Swift  blazing  forth  and  as  swift  disappearing. 
Like  wit  from  the  head  of  Kronion. 
Over  the  drearily  restless  waters 
Solemnly  rolls  the  thunder, 
Whereat  leap  on  high  the  white  sea-horses. 
Which  Boreas  himself  has  begotten 
With  the  light-bounding  mares  of  Erichthon  j 
And  scared  the  sea-birds  silently  flutter 

99 


9C  Centurp  of  overman  %pric^ 

Like  spectral  phantoms  from  Styx 

Whom  Charon  repulsed  from  his  shadowy  boat. 

Poor  little  merry  bark, 
Dancing  yonder  a  grim  dread  dance  ! 
yEolus  sends  thee  his  nimblest  companions 
Who  wildly  play  up  for  the  rollicking  frolic  ; 
One  doth  whistle,  another  howls, 
While  the  third  plays  a  rumbling  bass — 
And  the  staggering  sailor  stands  at  the  helm 
And  steadily  scans  the  compass, 
The  trembling  soul  of  the  vessel  ; 
And  he  raises  his  hands  beseeching  to  heaven  : 
*'  Oh,  save  me.  Castor,  doughtiest  of  heroes, 
And  Pollux,  mightiest  of  boxers  !  " 


Shipwreck 

Hope  and  Love  !    All  hopelessly  shattered  ! 

And  myself,  like  a  corpse, 

Grudgingly  cast  up  by  the  sea, 

Am  washed  on  shore. 

On  the  dull  naked  shore. 

Before  me  surges  the  wide  waste  of  waters, 

Behind  me  lie  but  sorrow  and  anguish, 

While  over  my  head  sail  the  clouds. 

The  shapeless  grey  daughters  of  air  : 

lOO 


WTio  fetch,  in  buckets  of  vapour, 

Water  from  ocean, 

And  drag  and  drag  it  in  arduous  toil, 

But  to  spill  it  again  in  the  sea, 

A  dull  and  tedious  employment, 

And  useless  like  my  own  life. 

The  billows  murmur,  the  sea-gulls  scream, 

Old  memories  drift  o'er  my  soul, 

Forgotten  dreams  and  faded  visions, 

Torturingly  sweet  ones,  start  forth  again. 

A  woman  lives  in  the  North, 
A  beautiful  woman,  queenly  beautiful. 
Round  her  cj'press-slim  limbs 
Flows  a  white  and  voluptuous  garment ; 
A  dark  mass  of  ringlets. 
Dark  and  tender  as  night. 
Falls  from  her  head  crowned  with  tresses. 
Encircling  dreamily,  sweetly 
Her  sweet  pale  face  ; 
And  forth  from  her  sweet  pale  face, 
Large  and  mighty,  flashes  her  eye 
Like  a  black  burning  sun. 

Oh,  how  often,  thou  black  burning  sun, 
Transportingly  often,  have  I  drunk  from  thee 
Wild  flames  of  inspiration, 
Till  I  staggered  and  stood  all  blinded  with  fire,- 
Then  a  dovelike  smile  would  tremble 

lOI 


%  Centurji  of  overman  %yric^ 


Round  those  haughtily-swelling  proud  lips, 

And  those  haughtily-swelling  proud  lips 

Breathed  words,  tender  as  moonlight, 

And  sweet  as  the  perfume  of  roses, — 

And  my  soul  spread  her  wings 

And  soared  and  mounted  on  high,  as  an  eagle  ! 

Silence,  ye  birds  and  ye  billows  ! 
All  has  expired.  Love  and  Hope, 
Yea,  Hope  and  Love  !    I  lie  on  the  beach, 
A  dreary  shipwrecked  man, 
And  press  my  glowing  face 
On  the  cold  wet  sand. 


The  Setting  Sun 

The  beauteous  sun 

Has  calmly  descended  into  the  ocean  ; 

The  restless  waters  already  are  dimmed 

With  gloomy  night. 

Save  where  the  evening's  red 

Flushes  them  golden  with  flecks  of  light ; 

And  the  swelling  murmuring  tide 

Drives  to  the  shore  the  white-crested  breakers, 

That  bound  and  leap. 

Like  fleecy  white  flocks, 

Which  at  nightfall  the  shepherd -boy 

Drives  home  singing. 

102 


"  How  fair  is  the  sun  ! " 
Thus  spoke  my  friend  who  was  walking  beside  me, 
After  long  pause  breaking  silence  ; 
And  half  in  joking  and  half  in  earnest 
He  assured  me  that  the  sun^ 
Was  a  lovely  woman,  who  only  had  married 
The  ancient  sea-god  from  '  convenance  ; ' 
All  day  long  she  beams  on  high, 
Joyful  and  clothed  in  purple, 
Diamond-flashing, 
And  loved  and  admired 
By  all  creation, 

And  delighting  the  whole  creation 
With  the  light  and  warmth  of  her  glance  ; 
But  at  night,  she  is  fain,  in  mute  despair. 
To  return  again 

To  her  watery  house  and  the  dreary  arms 
Of  her  aged  husband. 
"  Indeed,  believe  me,"  added  my  friend, 
And  smiled  and  sighed  and  smiled  again — 
"  They  lead  down  below  the  tenderest  union, 
Either  they  sleep,  or  they  quarrel  together  ; 
Then  the  sea  above  foams  up  high. 
And  the  sailors  hear  in  the  waves'  wild  uproar 
The  old  man  scolding  his  wife  : 
*Thou,  the  world's  round  Wanton  ! 
Radiant  Coquette  ! 

The  livelong  day  thou  glowest  for  others, 
1  In  German,  the  sun  is  feminine. 
103 


%  Ctnturp  of  oJerman  %yrii:|f 

But  at  night,  for  me,  thou  art  frosty  and  tired  ! 

After  this  curtain  lecture 

The  haughty  sun  bursts  into  tears 

As  a  matter  of  course, 

And  bewails  her  lot, 

And  weeps  so  bitterly  that  the  sea-god 

Suddenly  jumps  out  of  bed  in  despair. 

And  hastily  swims  to  the  ocean's  surface 

To  recover  time  for  breath  and  reflection. 

"Thus  saw  I  him  only  the  other  night, 
Extending,  breast-high,  from  out  the  water  : 
He  wore  a  jersey  of  yellow  flannel. 
And  a  white  tasselled  nightcap, 
And  an  old  wizened  face." 


The  Song  of  the  Oceanides 

Evening  shadows  fall  pale  and  dim, 
And  desolate,  with  his  own  desolate  soul, 
A  man  sits  alone  on  the  naked  beach. 
And  gazes  with  dreary  cold  look  on  high, 
To  the  wide  and  dreary  vault  of  heaven  : — 
And  he  looks  on  the  vast  and  billowy  sea. 
And  his  sighs,  those  sailors  of  air, 
Wander  o'er  the  vast  billowy  sea, 
And  thence  return  desponding  ; 
For  the  heart  wherein  they  had  hoped  to  anchor 

104 


I|Eine 

They  found  fast  locked — 

And  so  loudly  it  groaned,  that  the  white-winged  gulls, 

In  hundreds  from  their  nests  in  the  sand, 

Flutter  round  him  affrighted, 

And  he  speaks  unto  them  these  laughing  words  : 

"  Black-legged  Flutterers  ! 
With  gleaming  wings  the  ocean  skimming, 
With  crooked  bills  salt  water  drinking, 
And  rancid  sealflesh -gorging  birds  ! 
Your  life  is  bitter  like  unto  your  food  ! 
But  I,  the  happy  one,  taste  but  of  sweetness, 
I  taste  the  dainty  rose's  sweet  perfume. 
Of  the  moonshine-nurtured  nightingale-bride  ; 
I  taste  yet  more  sweet  and  delicious  manna, 
Sweetmeats  filled  with  whipped  cream,  forsooth; 
And,  sweetest  of  all,  I  taste 
Sweet  love  and  sweet  being  beloved. 

"  She  loves  me  !    She  loves  me  !    the  charming  maiden  ; 
Now  stands  she  at  home  at  the  balcony  window, 
And  gazes  longingly  out  on  the  road. 
And  listens  for  me— in  faith,  but  she  does  ! 
In  vain  she  gazes  around  and  sighs  she, 
And,  sighing,  descends  she  into  the  garden 
And  saunters  about  in  fragrance  and  moonshine. 
And  speaks  to  the  flowers,  and  tells  them  enraptured, 
How  I,  her  Beloved,  am  so  engaging, 
And  so  truly  charming— in  faith,  but  she  does  ! 

105 


/ 


%  Centurgi  of  overman  %pnc^ 


Later  on  in  her  bed,  in  her  sleep,  in  her  dreams, 

My  precious  image  hovers  around  her, 

Yea,  even  at  breakfast  time,  in  the  morning. 

Shining  upon  her  bread  and  butter, 

She  beholds  my  smiling  countenance. 

And,  lovesick,  she  eats  it — in  faith,  but  she  does  !  " 

Thus  he  brags  and  he  boasts. 
And  shrilly  the  gulls  shriek  between, 
As  though  giggling  in  irony  cold. 
The  mists  of  twilight  rise  shadowy  and  dim, 
And  forth  from  purple  night  cloud 
Looks  forth  the  lurid  uncanny  moon. 
Louder  yet  moan  and  surge  the  billows, 
And  forth  from  the  murmuring  billowy  tide 
Sad,  like  sighing  breezes. 
Sounds  the  song  of  the  nymphs  of  the  ocean, 
Of  the  fair  and  pitiful  water  maidens  ; 
And  above  all  the  others  is  heard  the  sweet  voice 
Of  the  silver-footed  wife  of  Peleus  ; 
And  they  sigh  and  they  sing : 

"O  fool,  thou  fool,  thou  poor  bragging  fool ! 
Fool,  tortured  by  grief  ! 

Behold,  all  thy  hopes  lie  murdered  before  thee, 
The  playful  children  of  thy  fond  heart, 
And,  alas  !  thy  heart,  like  Niobe's, 
Doth  harden  to  stone  ; 
Black  night  enshrouds  thy  head, 

106 


I^eine 


And  the  lightnings  of  madness  flash  athwart  it, 

And  thou  vauntest  for  very  grief ! 

O  fool,  thou  fool,  thou  poor  bragging  fool. 

Stubborn  thou  art,  as  was  thy  forefather, 

That  mighty  Titan,  who  stole  from  the  Gods 

Celestial  fire,  and  gave  it  to  men  ; 

And  vulture-tortured,  chained  to  the  rocks, 

Defied  Olympus,  defied  it,  and  groaned, 

That  even  we  heard  it  deep  down  in  the  sea. 

And  came  to  console  him  with  balmy  song. 

O  fool,  thou  fool,  thou  poor  bragging  fool  ! 

And  lo  !  thou  art  yet  more  helpless  than  he. 

And  prudent  it  were  thou  shouldst  honour  the  gods, 

And  shouldst  patiently  bear  with  the  load  of  thy  sorrow. 

And  shouldst  bear  it  with  patience,  so  long,  aye,  so  long. 

Till  Atlas  himself  shall  lose  patience, 

And  shall  hurl  from  his  shoulders  the  heavy  world 

Into  endless  night." 

Thus  sounded  the  song  of  the  ocean  nymphs. 
Of  the  fair  and  pitiful  water  maidens, 
Till  louder  billows  o'er-murmured  and  drowned  it — 
The  moon  withdrew  behind  clouds. 
Old  Night  did  yawn, 
And  I  sat  long  time  in  the  dark  and  wept. 


107 


%  Century  of  overman  Xyric^ 


The  Gods  of  Greece 

O  DAZZLING  full  moon  !  in  thy  pure  light, 
Like  molten  gold  doth  glitter  the  sea ; 
As  clear  as  day,  yet  in  silvery  enchantment, 
Stretches  away  the  long  line  of  beach ; 
And  up  in  the  pale  blue  starless  sky 
White  clouds  are  sailing, 
Like  colossal  statues  of  gods 
Of  lustrous  marble. 

No  !  these  images  never  are  clouds  ! 
These  are  themselves,  e'en  the  gods  of  Hellas, 
Who  once  so  joyously  reigned  o'er  the  earth. 
But  now,  supplanted  and  lifeless. 
Wander  as  Phantoms  gigantic 
Over  the  midnight  sky. 

Strangely  dazzled,  I  wond'ring  behold 
This  airy  Pantheon, 

And  those  solemn  and  silent  giant  forms. 
Drifting  in  motion  dread. 
Yon  is  Kronion,  king  of  the  heavens, 
Snow-white  now  are  the  locks  of  his  head, 
Those  renowned  locks  that  were  wont  to  shake 
Olympus  itself; 

The  extinguished  lightning  he  holds  in  his  hand, 
On  his  countenance  lie  misfortune  and  grief, 

io8 


And  still  withal  his  ancient  pride. 

Those  were  better  times,  O  Zeus, 

When,  godlike,  thou  tookest  delight 

In  youths  and  nymphs  and  hecatombs  ; 

But  even  the  gods,  they  reign  not  for  ever, 

And  the  young  supplant  the  old. 

As  thou  thyself  one  time  didst  dethrone 

Thy  aged  father  and  Titan  uncles, 

Jupiter  Parricida  ! 

Thee,  too,  proud  Juno,  I  recognize  ! 

Despite  all  thy  jealous  anger  and  fear, 

Another  has  taken  the  sceptre  from  thee, 

And  thou  reignest  no  longer  as  Queen  of  Heaven  ; 

And  thy  big  eyes  are  frozen  and  dull. 

And  all  powerless  droop  thy  lily  arms, 

And  nevermore  shalt  thou  wreak  thy  vengeance 

On  the  God-impregnated  virgin. 

And  the  miracle-working  Son  of  God. 

Thee,  too,  I  recognize,  Pallas  Athene  ! 

And  couldst  thou  not  with  thy  shield  and  thy  wisdom 

Avert  the  gods'  great  disaster  ? 

Thee  also  I  know,  thee  too.  Aphrodite, 

Once  the  golden,  alas,  now  of  silver  ! 

'Tis  true  that  still  the  zone's  charm  doth  adorn  thee, 

Yet  secretly  dread  I  thy  awfiil  beauty, 

And  shouldst  thou  all  graciously  deign  to  indulge  me 

Like  other  heroes,  I'd  die  of  alarm  ; 

A  ghoul-like  goddess  thou  seemest  to  me, 

Venus  Libitina  ! 

109 


9C  Ctnturp  of  overman  %nric^ 


No  longer  the  terrible  Ares  regards  thee 

With  longing  and  love. 

And  sadly  gazes  Phoebus  Apollo, 

The  youthful,  and  all  silent  his  lyre, 

Which  so  joyous  he  swept  at  the  feast  of  the  gods. 

Hephaestus  gazes  still  sadder  than  he, 

And,  truly,  the  Halting  One  never  again 

Shall  fill  Hebe's  place, 

Nor  pour  out  busily  in  the  assembly 

The  nectar  divine.     And  long  has  expired 

The  laughter  unquenchable  of  the  gods  ! 

I  never  have  loved  you,  ye  gods  ! 
For  odious  to  me  are  the  Greeks, 
And  more  still  the  Romans  are  hateful  to  me  ; 
But  sacred  compassion  and  shuddering  pity 
Doth  thrill  my  heart, 
When  I  behold  you  now  on  high, 
Ye  deserted  gods, 
Extinct  night-walking  Shadows, 
Nebulous  weak  ones,  scared  by  the  wind  ; — 
And  when  I  bethink  me,  how  poor  and  faint-hearted 
The  new  gods  are  that  have  conquered  you. 
The  sorry  and  reigning  new  gods. 
Spitefully  glad  in  sheepskin  of  meekness, — 
Oh,  then  am  I  seized  with  rancour  dark. 
And  I  should  like  to  break  their  new  temples, 
And  fight  for  you,  ye  ancient  gods, 
For  you  and  your  good  ambrosial  right  ; 

IIO 


And  before  your  high  altars, 
Built  up  again  and  smoking  with  worship, 
I  myself  should  like  to  kneel  down, 
And  pray  with  uplifted  hands — 

For,  look  you,  ye  ancient  gods, 
Though  in  ages  gone  by,  in  your  combats  with  men, 
You  still  did  side  with  the  conquerors, 
Yet  man  is  more  generous  than  you  were  ever ; 
And  in  the  combat  of  gods,  I  now  side 
With  you,  the  Conquered. 

*  *  *  * 

Thus  I  spake,  and  visibly  blushed 
On  high  the  pale  Cloud  Images, 
And  gazed  on  me,  dying 

And  sorrow-transformed,  and  suddenly  vanished  ; 
The  moon  had  just  hidden 
Her  face  in  the  clouds  rolling  nearer  ; 
The  ocean  foamed, 

And  triumphantly  shone  forth  from  out  the  dark  heaven 
The  stars  eternal. 


Questions 

By  the  sea,  the  dreary  nocturnal  sea, 
Stands  a  Stripling-Man, 

His  breast  full  of  sorrow,  his  head  full  of  doubt, 
And  with  gloomy  lips  he  asks  of  the  waters  : 

III 


I 

%  Century  of  o^ennan  Xyric^ 


"  Oh,  solve  me  the  Riddle  of  Life, 

That  harrowing,  world-old  riddle, 

Whereon  many  heads  have  pondered  and  brooded  ; 

Heads  in  caps  hieroglyph-scribbled, 

Heads  in  turbans,  and  heads  in  black  beavers, 

Heads  periwigged,  and  a  thousand  others. 

Poor  aching  human  heads — 

Tell  me — what  signifies  Man  ? 

Whence  has  he  come  ?   And  w'hither  goes  he  ? 

Who  dwells  up  on  the  golden  stars  ?  " 

The  waves  they  murmur  their  endless  babble, 
The  wind  it  blows,  and  the  clouds  they  wander, 
The  stars  they  glitter  coldly  indifferent, — 
And  a  fool  waits  for  an  answer. 


The  Phcenix 

Forth  from  the  West  the  Phoenix  is  flying. 

He  flies  towards  the  East, 

To  his  Eastern  garden  retreat, 

Where  spices  grow  in  perfume  and  fragrance, 

Where  palm  trees  rustle  and  springs  give  coolness. 

And  flying  the  wondrous  bird  doth  sing  : 

"  She  loves  him  !    She  loves  him  ! 
Within  her  small  heart  she  carries  his  likeness, 

112 


Xfcine 

And  secretly,  sweetly  doth  she  hide  it, 

And  scarce  knows  herself ! 

But  in  her  dreams  he  standeth  before  her, 

And  she  weeps  and  beseeches  and  kisses  his  hands. 

And  calls  on  his  name, 

And  calling,  awakens,  and  lies  sore  confused  ; 

Bewildered  she  rubs  her  beautiful  eyes — 

She  loves  him  !    She  loves  him  !  " 


Leaning  against  the  mast  on  the  deck, 
I  stood  and  heard  the  song  of  the  bird. 
Like  dark  green  horses  with  silver  manes, 
Dashed  about  the  white-crested  billows  ; 
Like  strings  of  wild  swans  went  flpng  by. 
With  gleaming  pinions,  the  Heligoland  smacks, 
Those  Nomads  bold  of  the  North  Sea  ! 
Overhead,  in  the  deep  blue  sky 
^^^lite  clouds  fluttered  their  streamers, 
And  flashed  the  fair  rose  of  heaven. 
The  fiery-flowering  eternal  Sun, 
Joyously  mirroring  him  in  the  sea  ; — 
And  heaven  and  ocean  and  my  own  heart 
Unceasingly  echoed  : 
"  She  loves  him  !    She  loves  him  ! " 


113 


%  Century  of  a?cnnau  "Xyric^ 


In  the  Harbour 

Happy  is  he  who  hath  reached  the  safe  harbour, 
Leaving  behind  him  the  stormy  wild  ocean, 
And  now  sits  cosy  and  warm 
In  the  good  old  Town-Cellar  of  Bremen. 

How  sweet  and  homelike  the  world  is  reflected, 
In  the  chalice  green  of  a  Rhinewine  rummer, 
And  how  the  dancing  microcosm 
Sunnily  glides  down  the  thirsty  throat ! 
Everything  I  behold  in  the  glass, 
History,  old  and  new,  of  the  nations, 
Both  Turks  and  Greeks,  and  Hegel  and  Gans, 
Forests  of  citron  and  big  reviews, 
Berlin  and  Shilda,  and  Tunis  and  Hamburg ; 
But,  above  all,  thy  image,  Beloved, 
And  thy  dear  little  head  on  gold-ground  of  Rhenish  ! 

Oh,  how  fair,  how  fair  art  thou.  Dearest  ! 
Thou  art  fair  as  the  rose  ! 
Not  like  the  Rose  of  Shiras, 
That  bride  of  the  nightingale,  sung  by  Hafis ; 
Not  like  the  Rose  of  Sharon, 
That  mystic  red  rose,  exalted  by  prophets  ; — 
Thou  art  like  the  "  Rose"  ^  of  the  Bremen  Town-Cellar, 

1  A  tun  of  celebrated  wine  in  the  "  Rathskeller  "  of  Bremen  called  tlic 
'Rose,"  round  which  are  ranged  twelve  vats  called  "  the  Apostles." 

114 


l^tint 

Which  is  the  Rose  of  Roses  ; 

The  older  it  grows  the  sweeter  it  blossoms, 

And  its  breath  divine  it  hath  all  entranced  me, 

It  hath  inspired  and  kindled  my  soul ; 

And  had  not  the  Town-Cellar  Master  gripped  me 

With  firm  grip  and  steady, 

I  should  have  stumbled  ! 

That  excellent  man  !   We  sat  together 
And  drank  like  brothers  ; 
We  spoke  of  wonderful  mystic  things. 
We  sighed  and  sank  in  each  other's  arms, 
And  me  to  the  faith  of  love  he  converted  ; — 
I  drank  to  the  health  of  my  bitterest  foes, 
And  I  forgave  all  bad  poets  sincerely. 
Even  as  I  may  one  day  be  forgiven  ; — 
I  wept  with  devotion,  and  at  length 
The  doors  of  salvation  were  opened  unto  me. 
Where  the  sacred  Vats,  the  twelve  Apostles, 
Silently  preach,  yet  oh,  so  plainly. 
Unto  all  nations. 

These  be  men  forsooth  ! 
Of  humble  exterior,  in  wooden  jerkins. 
Yet  within  they  are  fairer  and  more  enlightened 
Than  all  the  Temple's  proud  Levites, 
Or  the  courtiers  and  followers  of  Herod, 
Though  decked  out  in  gold  and  in  purple ; — 
Have  I  not  constantly  said  so  : 

115 


%  Century  of  overman  X-iiric^ 


Not  with  the  herd  of  common  low  people, 
But  in  the  best  and  politest  of  circles 
The  King  of  Heaven  was  sure  to  dwell ! 

Hallelujah  !    How  lovely  the  whisper 
Of  Bethel's  palm-trees  ! 
How  fragrant  the  myrtles  of  Hebron  ! 
How  sings  the  Jordan  and  reels  with  joy  ! — 
My  immortal  spirit  likewise  is  reeling, 
And  I  reel  in  company,  and  joyously  reeling 
Leads  me  upstairs  and  into  the  daylight. 
That  excellent  Town-Cellar  Master  of  Bremen. 

Thou  excellent  Town-Cellar  Master  of  Bremen  ! 
Dost  see  on  the  housetops  the  little  angels 
Sitting  aloft,  all  tipsy  and  singing  ? 
The  burning  sun  up  yonder 
Is  but  a  fiery  and  drunken  nose, 
The  Universe  Spirit's  red  nose  ; 
And  round  the  Universe  Spirit's  red  nose 
Reels  the  whole  drunken  world. 


Epilogue 

As  grow  on  a  wheat  field  the  ears  and  haulms, 
Thus  grow  and  expand  in  the  spirit  of  man 
His  thoughts. 

But  the  tender  thoughts  of  sweet  love 

ii6 


Kleine 

Are  as  the  red  and  blue  flowers 
Gaily  blooming  between. 

Ye  cornflowers  and  poppies  ! 
The  churlish  reaper  as  useless  reviles  you, 
Wooden  flails  mockingly  thresh  you, 
Even  the  poor  wayfarer, 
Whom  the  sight  of  you  cheers  and  rejoices, 
Doth  shake  his  head. 
And  call  you  fair  weeds. 
But  the  village  maiden, 
Weaving  her  garlands. 
Loves  you  and  plucks  you 
And  adorns  with  you  her  tresses. 
And  thus  adorned  she  hies  to  the  dance. 
Where  pipe  and  tabor  sweetly  are  sounding ; 
Or  to  the  trysting  hawthorn, 

Where  the  voice  of  her  sweetheart  is  music  yet  sweeter 
Than  pipe  e'en  or  tabor. 


117 


Sedge  Songs 
I. 

Faintly  sets  the  sun  o'er  yonder, 
Tired  falls  the  day  asleep, 

And  the  willows  trail  their  streamers 
In  these  waters  still  and  deep. 

Flow,  my  bitter  tears,  flow  ever. 
All  I  love  I  leave  behind  ; 

Sadly  whisper  here  the  willows, 
And  the  reed  shakes  in  the  wind. 

Into  my  deep  lonely  sufferings 

Tenderly  you  shine  afar. 
As  athwart  these  reeds  and  rushes 

Trembles  soft  yon  evening  star. 


%cnau 


II. 

Oft  at  eve  I  love  to  saunter 
Where  the  sedge  sighs  drearily, 

By  entangled  hidden  footpaths, 
Love  !  and  then  I  think  of  thee. 

When  the  woods  gloom  dark  and  darker, 
Sedges  in  the  nightwind  moan, 

Then  a  faint  mysterious  wailing 
Bids  me  weep,  still  weep  alone. 

And  methinks  I  hear  it  wafted. 
Thy  sweet  voice,  remote  yet  clear, 

Till  thy  song,  descending  slowly. 
Sinks  into  the  silent  mere. 


III. 

Angry  sunset  sky, 

Thunder-clouds  o'erhead. 
Every  breeze  doth  fly. 

Sultry  air  and  dead. 

From  the  lurid  storm 
Pallid  lightnings  break, 

Their  swift  transient  form 
Flashes  through  the  lake. 
119 


SC  Century  of  oP^crman  Xyric^ 


And  I  seem  to  see 

Thyself,  wondrous  nigh, — 
Streaming  wild  and  free 

Thy  long  tresses  fly. 


Mist 

Grey  envious  mist,  thou  still  dost  hide 

Valley  and  river's  run, 
The  forest  on  the  mountain  side, 

And  every  gleam  of  sun. 

Take  thou  into  thy  sombre  night 
This  earth  so  broad  and  vast ; 

Take  all  that  makes  my  soul  so  sad. 
Take,  too,  away  the  Past  ! 


1 20 


The  Crossbill 
I. 

Full  often  with  the  fowler 
In  tranquil  peace  was  I 

All  night  long  in  the  forest, 
Nor  ever  closed  an  eye. 

Of  every  bird  the  fowler 

Some  wondrous  legend  told, 

Inside  that  dusky  chamber 
Grew  dazzling  fairy  gold. 

But  in  yon  wicker  basket, 
That  bird  with  purple  wing 

And  crooked  beak  doth  comfort 
In  all  affliction  bring. 

I've  now  a  bitter  yearning, 
A  silent  aching  pain, 

121 


Sd  Centurp  of  (German  %imc^ 

Yon  bird  I  heard  so  often, 
To  hear  once  more  again. 

Methinks,  could  I  but  hear  it 

Sing,  in  my  soul's  distress, 
Perchance  'twould  still  the  beating 

Of  my  heart's  restlessness. 

II. 

When  the  flowers  long  have  faded. 
Ere  the  dreary  winter's  rest, 

Lo  !  a  bird  upon  the  fir-tree 
Only  now  has  built  its  nest. 

In  this  wintry  desolation, 
Sits  the  bird  as  red  as  blood, 

Under  frozen  icy  branches 
Hatching  tenderly  its  brood. 

Strange  a  bird  art  thou,  O  Crossbill  ! 

And  I  often  think  of  thee, 
"When  the  world  so  cold  and  empty 

As  a  wilderness  I  see. 


III. 
High  upon  the  cross  our  Saviour 

Hung,  His  eyes  towards  Heaven  bent, 
When  He  feels  a  gentle  pricking 

On  His  hand,  all  torn  and  rent. 

122 


JlEa^en 


Christ,  by  everyone  forsaken, 
Here  this  little  bird  doth  see 

Striving  earnestly  to  loosen 
One  harsh  nail  in  charity. 

And  with  blood  bedewed  and  sprinkled, 

Never  resting,  it  doth  seek 
From  the  Cross  to  free  the  Saviour 

"With  its  tiny  tender  beak. 

Then  the  Lord  He  spake  in  mercy  : 
"  Be  for  evermore  thou  blest ; 

Henceforth  ever  shall  adorn  thee 

Sign  of  cross  and  bloodstained  crest. " 

And  the  bird  was  called  the  Crossbill — 
Covered  o'er  with  blood  so  bright, 

It  doth  sing  all  sad  and  strangely 
In  the  forest's  leafy  night. 

IV. 

Like  this  bird,  I,  too,  am  striving, 

But,  alas  !  without  avail. 
From  my  poor  and  tortured  country 

To  wrench  out  a  cruel  nail. 

But  all  drenched  with  its  bitter 
Tears,  and  stained  with  its  blood, 

In  despair  I  now  am  singing 
Mournfully  within  the  wood 
J23 


%  Century  of  overman  Xpric^ 


Wail  aloud,  ye  gloomy  pine-trees, 
Torrents,  rush  with  angry  roar, 

That  my  song  may  not  re-echo 
From  these  mountains  to  the  shore. 


124 


"  One  little  hour  ere  day" 

The  while  I  sleeping  lay 
One  little  hour  ere  day, 
Before  my  window  on  the  tree 
A  swallow  sang  this  song  to  me, 
One  little  hour  ere  day. 

"  Now  listen  to  my  lay, 

Thy  lover  I  betray  ! 

The  while  I  sing  this  song  to  thee, 

Another  maiden  kisseth  he 

One  little  hour  ere  day." 

Oh  me,  no  further  say  ! 
Ah  hush,  no  more  betray ! 
Fly,  swallow,  from  my  sill  away. 
Ah,  love  and  faith,  a  dream  ai^  they 
One  little  hour  ere  day  ! 
125 


%  Centurii  of  overman  %pric^ 


Suum  Cuique 

Aninka  dances 
In  rapid  measure 
Upon  the  greensward. 
How  fair  was  she  ! 

With  drooping  lashes. 
With  eyes  so  modest. 
The  modest  maiden — 
She  drives  me  wild  ! 

Lo,  springs  a  button 
From  off  her  jacket, 
A  golden  button, 
I  caught  it  up  ! 

And  deemed  it  wondrous, 
A  sweet  strange  omen. 
But  all  sarcastic 

Jegor  doth  smile. 

As  who  should  tell  me  : 
Mine  is  the  jacket 
And  all  it  covers. 
Mine  is  the  maiden  ; 
The  button— thine  ! 


126 


iFertifnanti  jfreilfgratS 

Sea  Fable 

High  and  dry  upon  the  seashore 
Lies  the  helpless  fishing-smack  ; 

From  the  mast  the  net  is  hanging, 
Dripping  still,  all  wet  and  black. 

Yon  barefooted  boy  is  trying 
All  its  meshes  o'er  with  care  ; 

Fishes  in  the  sun  are  drying 

On  the  wooden  framework  there. 

Parched,  the  arid  plain  is  gazing 

On  the  sea,  a  Tantalus  ; 
Like  a  mighty  silver  crescent 

Flashes  great  Oceanus. 

Every  billow,  gray  and  salty, 
As  upon  the  beach  it  broke, 

As  if  greeting  with  its  crested 
Head,  it  nodded,  and  then  spoke 
127 


%  Centuru  of  a3erman  %yric^ 


' '  On  the  beach  I  love  to  murmur, 
Love  to  lick  the  firm  hard  sand, 

Coloured  shells  and  starfish  gladly 
Do  I  fling  upon  the  land. 

''Much  I  love  to  see  the  wild  gorse 
Straggling  grow  about  the  plain  ; 

Here  do  I  forget  how  gloomy 
Is  without,  the  boundless  main, 

"  Which  the  stormy  tempest  lashes. 
Where  the  Norsemen  fishing  go, 

W^here  the  Arctic  and  the  German 
Oceans  both  together  flow. 

"  Neither  buoy  nor  blazing  beacon 
Watch  on  yonder  waters  keep, 

And  the  Kraken  rises  nightly 
From  his  caverns  in  the  deep. 

**  Stifi"  with  scales,  a  rigid  island, 
See  him  steer  along  the  shore  ; 

Terrified,  the  skiffs  seek  safety, 
And  the  fisher  grasps  his  oar. 

"  A  huge  plain  doth  he  resemble  ; — 
Combat-ready  lies  he  now, 

And  his  back  with  warts  is  covered 
As  with  hillocks — high  and  low. 
128 


5frcili0ratS 


"  Calmly  floats  he — on  a  sudden, 
With  a  hissing  fierce  and  dread 

Darts  on  him  the  great  Sea-serpent ; 
Moss  is  growing  on  its  head. 

**\\Tien  the  two  are  struggling,  when  their 

Gory  crests  do  wave,  I  ween 
Ne'er  more  wondrous  and  more  fearful 

Sight  on  ocean  yet  was  seen. 

* '  Lonely,  horrible,  and  gloomy 

Is  the  distant  dreary  main  ; — 
Much  I  love  to  see  the  wild  gorse 

Straggling  grow  about  the  plain." 


Roland 

A     REVERIE 

'TwAS  in  the  wood  ;  through  silent  glades  we  go, 
Where  hides  herself  the  faint  and  stricken  doe, 
Where,  quivering,  through  the  leaves  shoot  gleams  of  day, 
Where  horn  and  axe  in  answering  echoes  play. 

Deep  silence  reigns  ;  only  the  turtle-dove 
Coos  overhead  her  murmuring  plaints  of  love, 
The  spring  but  bubbles,  and  the  ancient  trees 
Scarce  rustle,  wrapt  in  dreamy  reveries. 

129  K 


%  Centurp  of  o^mnan  Xyric^ 


The  beech  makes  moan,  the  ash  is  gently  stirred, 
Far  ofif  the  clanging  of  a  forge  is  heard, 
My  staff's  harsh  grate  as  'gainst  a  stone  it  rung, — 
This  is  the  mountain-forests'  native  tongue  ! 

I  heard  its  voice  with  throb  akin  to  weeping, 
Into  my  greenwood  joy  sweet  pain  came  creeping, 
Rock,  forest,  solitude,  these  all  unite 
To  touch  my  inmost  soul  with  magic  might. 

I  thought  of  yonder  pass  where  Roland  fell ; 
Would  God  that  such  a  fate  were  mine  as  well  ! 
A  life  of  wrestling,  flight  of  Saracen, 
And  the  death-signal  in  the  rocky  glen  ! 

The  battle  roars  ;  I  boldly  take  my  stand. 
Long  time  my  sword  has  glittered  in  my  hand  j 
Early  and  late  by  foes  I'm  sore  beset. 
My  horn,  my  Poesy,  is  slumbering  yet. 

It  rests  and  slumbers  gravely  on  my  right. 
It  rests  and  dreams,  whilst  I  myself  do  fight ; 
Only  at  times,  a  wild  and  broken  note. 
To  cheer  the  fray,  bursts  fitful  from  its  throat. 

What  are  my  songs,  in  sooth,  but  signals  all 
To  aid  my  courage  and  to  cheer  my  soul  ? 
Wild  savage  chords,  rude  sounds,  which,  when  at  rest, 
Harshly  escape  from  out  my  labouring  breast. 

130 


ifrciUsratB 


What  other  theme  should  warriors'  souls  delight  ? 
Grasp  firm  your  sword  an  you  would  win  the  fight  ! 
Your  rage  and  anger  breathe  into  your  arms, 
And  let  your  bugle  rest  from  war's  alarms. 

Triumphant  lays  the  conqueror  can  afford  ; — 
Wake  you  the  iron  clash  of  sword  on  sword  ! 
Signals  ? — So  be't  ! — A  challenge  short  and  shrill 
Then  boldly  utter  over  dale  and  hill. 

But  only  then  a  full  triumphant  blast, 
When  the  proud  Saracen  lies  slain  at  last, 
When  you  have  hurled  your  mighty  enemy, 
All  armed  in  mail,  upon  the  ground  to  die. 

Within  a  pass  like  this  and  Ronceval 
Dead  at  your  feet  the  giant  then  shall  fall ; 
But  you  yourself  are  wounded  to  the  death, 
Then  sound  your  bugle  with  your  dying  breath  ! 

And  while  your  life-blood  ebbing  fast  you  feel, 
To  Charlemagne  send  forth  a  last  appeal. 
One  piercing  cry — the  revelation  true 
Of  all  you  wished  and  strove  and  dared  to  do  ! 

Which  in  quick  breathless  gasps  shall  all  reveal, 
What,  in  the  strife,  your  pride  forbade  to  tell. 
One  last  confession,  one  last  menace  bold, — 
The  signature  to  your  whole  life  behold  ! 

131 


%  Century  of  OBerman  %ytic^^ 

Hark,  what  a  sound  !     The  mountains  ring  again, 
Upon  your  neck  starts  purple  every  vein. 
Afar,  each  comrade  hears  your  cry  of  need, 
Tremblingly  hears  it,  quickly  turns  his  steed. 

The  Emperor  comes,  the  Paladins,  in  haste, 
Alas  !  your  blood  wells  forth  in  fearful  waste  ; 
Encircling  you  in  silence  they  stand  round. 
Your  eye  is  glazed — your  bugle  gives  no  sound. 

Then  stifled  murmurs  through  the  valley  spread  : 
^^  Life's  Battle  !  yea,  it  is  a  giant  dread  ! 
Honour  to  him  who  nobly  waged  the  fight, 
Bury  him  thus,  his  bugle  in  his  right !  " — 

Ha  !  Such  a  fate  ! — Sighing,  the  ash  is  stirred, 
Far  off  the  clanging  of  a  forge  is  heard, 
Black  thunder-clouds  rush  by  in  angry  mass. 
And  dark  and  darker  glooms  the  mountain-pass. 


The  Flowers'  Revenge 

Wrapt  in  deep  repose,  the  maiden 
On  the  bed's  soft  couch  is  lying. 

Gently  droops  her  silken  eyelash. 
Crimson  her  hot  cheek  is  dyeing. 
132 


JFreUigratfl 


Glittering  on  the  chair  of  rushes 

Stands  a  vase  of  rich  adorning, 
Flowers  are  gathered  in  its  chalice 

Fresh  and  fragrant  but  this  morning. 

Stifling,  sultry  heat  has  settled, 

Brooding,  o'er  the  silent  room, 
Closed  are  lattices  and  windows, 

Twilight  darkens  into  gloom. 

Quiet  now,  and  deepest  silence  ! 

Sudden,  hark  !  a  soft  low  rustling  ! 
Leaves  and  flowers  gently  whisper, 

Lisping  low  with  eager  bustling. 

From  the  flowers,  lo  !  are  rising 
Fairy  forms  so  light  and  slender  ; 

Thinnest  mist  their  floating  garments. 

Shields  and  crowns  they  bear  in  splendour. 

From  the  Rose's  blushing  bosom 

Steps  a  woman,  tall  and  fair  ; 
Pearls  are  glistening  like  dewdrops 

In  her  loose  and  fluttering  hair. 

From  the  Monkhood's  iron  helmet. 
From  its  foliage  darkly  gleaming. 

Strides  a  knight  of  dauntless  courage. 
Sword  and  armour  brightly  beaming. 
133 


%  Centurp  of  overman  Xyric^ 

O'er  his  helmet  waves  the  plumage 

Of  the  heron,  silver-pale  ; 
From  the  Lily  floats  a  maiden, 

Thinnest  gossamer  her  veil. 

From  the  spotted  Tiger  Lily 

Issues  forth  an  Arab  bold. 
On  his  turban  green  is  blazing 

Fierce  the  crescent's  arch  of  gold. 

Boldly  from  the  Crown  Imperial 
Steps  a  sceptre-bearer  royal ; 

From  the  azure  Iris  follow 

Sword-girt  all  his  hunters  loyal. 

From  the  leaves  of  the  Narcissus 
Gloomy-eyed  a  youth  doth  slip, 

Pressing  hot  and  burning  kisses 
On  the  maiden's  cheek  and  lip. 

But  around  her  couch,  the  others 
Wildly  dance  and  wheel  again, 

Round  in  mazy  circles  flying, 
Singing  angrily  this  strain  : 

"From  the  earth,  hast  thou,  O  maiden, 

Torn  us  with  a  cruel  hand, 
That  we  now  must  fade  and  languish 

In  this  painted  flower-stand, 
134 


5!^reiii0rat8 


"Oh,  how  happy  were  we,  resting 
On  the  breast  of  Mother  Earth, 

\Miere,  through  tender  foliage  glancing, 
Sunbeams  kissed  us  oft  in  mirth  ; 

"Where  soft  summer  breezes  fanned  us, 
Bending  low  our  stems  so  airy, 

\Miere  at  night  our  leafy  dwellings 
We  did  quit,  as  elf  or  fairy. 

"  Heavenly  rain  and  dew  refreshed  us, 
Here  we  droop  in  stagnant  water — 

Lo,  we  fade,  but  ere  we  perish 

Maiden  !  we'll  avenge  our  slaughter  !  " 

Finished  is  their  song,  as  bending 
O'er  the  sleeper  they  bow  lowly. 

With  the  old  and  sultry  silence 

Comes  again  that  whispering  slowly. 

What  a  rushing,  what  a  murmuring. 
How  the  maiden's  cheek  doth  glow, 

How  the  spirits  breathe  upon  her. 
How  the  perfumes  faintly  flow  ! 

Now  the  sun  salutes  her  chamber, 
Scaring  every  phantom  shade  ; 

On  the  couch  is  calmly  sleeping. 
Cold  and  dead,  the  loveliest  maid. 
135 


SC  Centurp  of  overman  TCpric^ 


Tinged  her  cheek  with  faintest  crimson, 

She,  herself  a  faded  flower, 
Rests  beside  her  faded  sisters, 

Murdered  by  their  fragrant  power. 


On  the  Sea 

"Alone  on  the  tranquil  sea  I  ride, 
On  its  surface  is  scarcely  a  ripple  or  frown. 
On  the  sands  far  beneath  me,  in  stately  pride 
Shines  the  old  o'erwhelmed  town. 

"  In  hoary  times  did  a  king  expel, 
As  the  legends  say,  his  child  fair  and  good. 
Then  far  o'er  the  mountains  she  went  to  dwell 
With  seven  dwarfs  in  a  wood. 

*'And  when,  through  her  wicked  stepmother,  she 
Had  died  from  some  baneful  poison's  might, 
She  was  laid  by  the  tiny  community 
In  a  crystal  coffin  of  light. 

"And  thus  she  lay  in  her  snow-white  dress, 
Adorned  with  flowers  fragrant  and  fair, 
Thus  lay  she  in  all  her  loveliness. 
And  could  ever  be  seen  by  them  there. 

13^ 


freiligratg 


"  So,  too,  O  Julin,  in  thy  cofifin  of  glass 
As  a  corpse  dost  thou  lie,  decked  in  glorious  array, 
The  flowing  waves,  as  transparent  they  pass, 
Thy  palaces'  lustre  display. 

*'  Up  tower  thy  spires  gloomy  and  tall. 
And  their  mourning  in  sadness  and  silence  declare, 
The  arched  gateway  breaks  through  the  wall, 
The  church  windows  gorgeously  flare. 

*'  But  in  all  this  magnificence  solemn  and  still 

Not  a  human  footstep,  no  mirth,  no  song, 

Through  the  streets,  o'er  the  market  the  fish  at  their  will 

Slowly  drift  by  in  uncouth  throng. 

*'  Full  into  the  windows  and  into  the  doors 
They  stupidly  stare  with  dull  glazed  eye, 
And  there  the  inhabitants  sleepy  and  dumb 
In  their  houses  of  stone  they  descry. 

"  But  I  will  descend,  and  I  will  restore 
With  th'  inspiring  power  of  my  living  breath 
The  sunken  splendour  and  might  of  yore, 
And  break  the  enchantment  of  death. 

**Once  more  let  life  with  its  bustle  and  trade 
Fill  the  market  space  and  the  pillared  hall ; 
Now  open  your  eyes,  Oh  each  fair  maid  ! 
And  bless  the  long  dream  ye  all. 

137 


%  Century  of  aP>ei:nian  %pric^ 

'*  Down,  downwards  !  " — he  stops,  nor  further  rows, 
His  hands  and  arms  sink  rigidly  down. 
O'er  his  head  the  waters  silently  close, 
And  at  length  he  salutes  the  town. 

He  lives  where  the  pearl  and  the  amber  glow, 
He  lives  in  the  houses  forgotten  long  ; — 
The  splendour  and  glory  of  Eld  below, 
On  the  surface  a  fisher-song  ! 


The  Death  of  the  Leader 

**  From  the  sails  the  fog  is  dripping, 

O'er  the  bay  the  mist  doth  fly  ; 
Light  the  lantern  at  the  mast-head, 

Dull  the  water — dull  the  sky  ; 
Funeral  weather  ! — Heads  uncover  ! — 

Wives  and  children,  young  and  old. 
Come  and  pray,  for  in  the  cabin 

You  a  dead  man  shall  behold." 

And  the  German  peasants  follow 

Their  New  England  captain's  tread, 
In  the  lowly  cabin  entering 

"With  a  sad  and  drooping  head. 
They,  who  for  a  home,  a  new  one, 

Crossed  the  ocean  vast  and  gray, 
In  his  shroud  they  see  the  old  man 

\\Tio  has  led  them  till  to-day. 

138 


ifreilijaratg 


Who,  from  boards  of  fir  and  pinewood, 

Built  a  hut  that  floated  free 
To  the  Rhine  adown  the  Neckar, 

From  the  Rhine  down  to  the  sea. 
Who,  white-haired  and  heavy-hearted, 

Sadly  left  his  father's  land, 
Saying  :    "Let  us  rise  and  wander, 

Let  us  make  a  covenant ; — 

**  Let  us  all  break  up  towards  evening. 

Westward  doth  our  dawn  flush  bright ; 
Over  yonder  let  us  settle, 

There  where  freedom  holds  her  right ; 
There  we'll  sow  our  sweat  in  furrows 

Where  'tis  not  an  idle  seed, 
There  we'll  till  the  soil,  where  each  one 

That  has  ploughed  shall  earn  his  meed. 

"  Let  us  carry  each  his  homestead 

Far  into  the  forests  dark, 
Let  me  be  in  the  Savannahs, 

Let  me  be  your  Patriarch  ! 
Let  us  live  as  lived  the  shepherds 

In  the  Bible's  olden  lay, 
And  our  journey's  fiery  pillar 

Be  the  light  that  burns  for  aye. 

"  On  this  light  I  place  reliance, 
It  will  never  guide  us  wrong, 
139 


%  olenturp  of  overman  %ync^ 

In  my  grandsons  I  see  proudly 
P'uture  generations  strong ; 

Ah  ! — I  once  had  hoped  my  country 
Would  receive  my  weary  dust, 

For  my  children's  sake  I  grasp  yet 
Scrip  and  staff  with  hopeful  trust. 

Up  then  !    And  from  Goshen  follow 

Yon  bright  pioneering  star  !  " 
Ah,  he  viewed,  a  second  Moses, 

Canaan  only  from  afar ! 
He  has  died  upon  the  ocean, 

Both  he  and  his  wishes  cease, 
Disappointment  or  Fulfilment 

Cannot  now  disturb  his  peace. 

Orphaned  now  the  band,  about  to 

Sink  their  leader  in  the  deep  ; 
Awed  the  little  children  hide  them, 

Silently  their  mothers  weep  ; 
And  the  men,  with  anxious  bosom, 

Gaze  upon  the  distant  shore, 
Where  this  pious  one — ah,  never  ! 

At  their  side  shall  wander  more. 

"From  the  sails  the  mist  is  dripping, 
Fog  hangs  heavy  on  the  wave. 

Pray  ye  !    Let  the  ropes  be  slackened, 
Give  him  to  his  billow  grave." 
140 


ifreilisratg 


Tears  are  shed  and  waves  are  foaming, 
Seagulls  flit  with  angry  cry  ; 

He  who  tilled  the  earth  his  life  long, 
In  the  sea  doth  calmly  lie. 


The  Water  Gueux 

A  CORPSE  the  German  Ocean 
Has  cast  upon  the  land  ; 
A  fisherman  has  seen  it, 
And  hastens  to  the  strand. 

From  out  the  scarf  he  presses 
The  blood  and  brine  so  red, 
He  opes  the  dead  man's  armour, 
Lifts  the  beaver  off  his  head  ; 

His  beaver  gay  with  crescent, 
With  feathers  soiled  and  creased  ; 
Sand  cleaves  around  the  inscription 
"  Much  rather  Turk  than  Priest  ! " 

WTiy  bearest  thou  on  shore  him, 
To  loose  his  armour's  clasp  ? 
No  longer  sword  and  rudder 
This  warrior's  hand  shall  grasp  ; 
141 


%  Centurp  of  aB>erman  %yric^ 

For  when  the  Spaniard's  bulwarks 
He  clutched  with  sinewy  fist, 
In  grappling,  with  a  hatchet 
They  smote  it  from  the  wrist. 

Down  fell  he  plunging  backwards  ; — 
The  sea  with  sullen  roar 
Received  him,  and  yet  bleeding 
Has  cast  him  here  ashore. 

The  brave  and  knightly  body 
Floated  to  Zealand's  strand  ; 
On  Friesland's  coast  a  maiden 
Doth  find  the  mangled  hand. 

An  anchor  black  and  dripping 
With  ocean's  humid  air, 
A  rough  and  rusty  tide-mark. 
Is  standing  upright  there. 

As,  leaning  on  the  anchor, 
A  gleaming  sail  to  see. 
Or  gaily  fluttering  pennon, 
— Image  of  hope  is  she  ! — 

Lo,  what  comes  on  the  breakers  ? 
A  hand  as  if  to  greet  ! 
The  cold  and  stiffened  fingers 
Have  touched  her  very  feet. 
142 


5J'rcilij3ratS 


Upon  one  finger  glistens 
A  stone  as  red  as  blood, 
And  on  it  are  engraven 
A  falcon  and  lion  good. 

No  longer  shall  the  falcon 
His  pinions  spread  on  high  ; 
This  hand  it  is  the  lion's, 
Who  at  her  feet  did  lie  ; 

Whose  brow  she  will  no  longer 
Entwine  with  garlands  green  ; — 
Already  twilight  darkens  ; 
Her  face  cannot  be  seen. 

I  cannot  see  if  dimly 
She  sheds  a  burning  tear, 
But  I  can  see  her  trembling 
Lift  up  the  hand  in  fear, 

Within  her  white  veil  hiding 
The  relic  stained  with  gore. 
And  homewards  faintly  gliding, 
— Image  of  hope  no  more  ! — 


143  ^ 

OF  THE 

aNIVEBSITY 


%  Century  of  oBerman  Xyric^ 


Henry 

A  DREAR  and  empty  room  ;  the  evening  sun's  last  ray 

Through  the  dim  windows  pale  and  sickly  breaks  its  way, 

Through  faded  panes  it  faintly  glances. 

A  camp-bed  and  a  chair,  a  table  too — and  see 

A  coffin  yonder — nay  !  quake  not,  but  follow  me  ! 

Let  us  behold  two  countenances. 

A  maiden's  image  here  admiringly  behold  ! 

What  eyes  !    What  sweetness !    Ah,  what  locks  of  waving 

gold  ! 
Lips  whereon  love  doth  seem  to  tremble  ! 
An  azure  girdle  clasps  her  slim  waist  daintily  ; 
Should  ever  I  be  loved,  I  pray  to  God  that  she 
This  maiden's  portrait  may  resemble  ! 

Now  turn  to  yonder  bier  ;  from  shroud  so  white  and  dim 
A  youth's  face  lies  upturned  ;  his  features  stiff  and  grim 
Scowl  forth,  with  pain  and  sorrow  wasted  ; 
With  deep  and  deadly  grief  his  silent  lips  are  drawn. 
But  that  the  tempest  fierce  within  should  ne'er  be  known, 
To  seal  these  lips  in  death  he  hasted  ! 

Turn  back  the  winding-sheet  : — dost  see  the  dagger  shine 
Bloodstained  within  his  hand  ?    Let  not  faint  heart  be  thine  ! 

144 


5Frcili0raUj 


— His  heart  doth  sheathe  this  poniard  chilly  ! — 
Once  more  cast  on  this  face  so  joyous-fair  thine  eye, 
Then  on  this  agonized  ! — Now  come  !— But  ask  not  v/hy 
This  last  sad  face  doth  rest  so  stilly  ! 


The  Fir-Tree 

On  the  mountain's  highest  summit 
Straight  and  green  the  Fir  doth  grow, 

Stretching  forth  its  roots  and  fibres 
Through  the  creviced  rocks  below. 

Towards  the  highest  cloud -banks  soaring, 
Lo,  its  topmost  branches  sweep, 

As  if  them,  of  birdlike  swiftness. 
They  would  grasp  and  firmly  keep. 

For  the  clouds,  a  hundred-shapen. 
Streaming,  tattered,  rent  in  twain, 

Are  the  Fir-tree's  needle  cushions, 
Vast  grey  masses,  big  with  rain. 

Far  within  its  gnarled  fibres. 

Dank  and  brown  with  clinging  earth, 
Live  the  dwarfs  of  tiny  stature, 

Madcaps  they  in  pranks  and  mirth. 

145  L 


%  Century  of  oBcnnau  Xjirk^ 

Without  ladders,  without  buckets, 
They  the  mountain's  depth  explore  ; 

In  those  wondrous  mines,  the  metals 
Melt  they  into  precious  ore. 

Tangled,  do  its  roots  hang  downward 
To  the  caverns  deep  below, 

There  beholding  diamonds  glitter. 
And  the  gold's  rich  yellow  glow. 

But  on  high,  its  shady  branches 
Love  to  see  a  scene  more  fair, 

See  the  sun  through  foliage  glancing. 
Watch  the  Spirit's  stir  and  care, 

Who,  with  clever  dwarfs,  his  helpmates. 
In  this  lonely  mountain  range 

Everything  doth  keep  in  order, 
All  doth  govern  and  arrange ; 

Often  too,  at  change  of  solstice, 

After  nightfall  rushes  by, 
Round  his  loins  a  shaggy  deerskin. 

In  his  fist  a  pine-tree  high. 

Catching  every  note  that's  uttered 
By  each  songster's  tender  beak. 

Not  a  word  the  Fir-tree  loseth 

What  the  bubbling  brook  doth  speak  ; 
146 


Jrrciligratg 


Doth  behold  the  forest  creatures' 
Household,  in  calm  happiness, — 

Oh,  what  peace,  what  ample  riches 
In  this  shady  wilderness  ! 

Man  is  distant. — Nought  but  red-deer's 
Tracks  upon  the  mossy  ground  ; — 

Ah  !  well  may'st  thou,  all  exulting, 
Scatter  far  thy  cones  around. 

Ah  !  well  may'st  thou  sprinkle  fragrant 

Drops  of  amber  resin  bright. 
And  adorn  thy  stiff  and  dark  green 

Hair,  with  dew  in  the  morning's  light  ! 

Ah  !  well  may'st  thou  whisper  softly, 

Aye,  or  roar  defiance  free  ; 
On  the  lonely  mountain  waving. 
Green  and  strong  the  storm-wind  braving, 

Fir-tree  !  could  I  change  with  thee  ! 

From  out  the  frigate  tapering 

The  tall  mast  lightly  rears. 
With  sail  and  shroud  and  pennon  ; 

'Tis  bent  with  weight  of  years. 

The  foaming  wave  it  addresses 

With  loud  and  angry  wail ; 
**What  use  to  me  this  garment 

Of  white  and  flowing  sail  ? 

147 


%  Centurp  of  overman  Xpiic^ 

"What  use  to  me  this  rigging, 
These  flags  that  sport  in  the  wind  ? 

A  secret  yearning  draws  me 
To  the  forest  left  behind  ! 

•'  In  early  youth  they  felled  me, 
And  brought  me  to  the  strand, 

To  navigate  the  ocean 

And  see  each  foreign  land. 

**  I've  sailed  the  main,  beholding 
Sea-kings  upon  their  throne, 

Both  fair  and  swarthy  nations 
I  saw  in  every  zone. 

*' Rock-nourished  moss  in  Iceland 
Far  northwards  I  did  greet. 

With  palms  in  southern  islands 
I  have  held  converse  sweet. 

"  But  evermore  I'm  longing 
For  yon  mountain  grown  with  pine, 

Where  in  the  dwarfs'  dominions 
My  hairy  roots  did  twine  ! 

"  Oh  glades,  so  brightly  flowered. 
Oh  greenwood,  glad  and  free  ; 

Oh  life,  so  sweet  and  dreamy. 
How  far,  how  far  are  ye  ! " 

148 


frciUgratS 


Africa 

Ye  zones,  so  strange  and  wondrous, 
Thou  distant  magic  land, 
Where  swarthy  men  are  roving. 
Burned  by  the  sun's  fierce  brand  ; 
Where  all  things  glow  and  sparkle, 
Where  the  sun's  golden  beam 
The  genuine  gold  doth  darken 
That  flashes  bright  in  every  stream. 

Thy  forests  dark  and  deserts 

Are  present  to  my  view, 

Thy  feathery  palms  are  mirrored 

In  lakes  of  deepest  blue  ; 

The  wild  beasts'  roar  is  sounding 

From  cleft  and  cavern  black. 

With  heavy  bales  and  costly, 

The  Arab  loads  his  camel's  back. 

There,  too,  the  ciirly  negro 
Gold  dust  in  rivers  seeks, 
And  there  iSIount  Atlas  gravely 
Rears  heaven-supporting  peaks  ; 
The  sunlight  tinges  brightly 
Its  crags  with  radiant  blush, 
While  elephants  gray  and  sombre 
With  ponderous  step  the  meadows  crush. 
149 


%  Century  of  aP>Erman  ICjiric^ 


To  dip  his  mane  in  the  river 
The  lion  stoopeth  down, 
And  swiftly  as  the  lightning 
Canoes  dart,  light  and  brown  ; 
They  pass  o'er  depths  securely, 
And  dates  and  rosin  bear, 
And  from  the  waves  dark  faces. 
All  dripping  and  all  wet  appear. 

Oh  zone,  so  hot  and  glowing. 
Queen  of  the  earth  art  thou  ! 
Sand  is  thy  garment  flowing, 
The  sun  doth  crown  thy  brow  ; 
Of  gold,  thou  queenly  woman. 
Are  all  the  clasps  and  rings, 
That  fasten  with  fiery  splendour 
The  gannent  to  thy  burning  limbs. 

The  strand,  with  rocks  and  quicksands, 
Naked  and  parched  with  heat, 
Cut  into  shapes  phantastic 
Is  a  footstool  for  thy  feet ; 
The  ocean  far  beneath  it. 
Its  edge  doth  hem  and  braid, 
Washing  thy  sandals,  foaming, 
As  an  anxious  and  a  willing  maid. 

On  dazzling  mats  of  scarlet 
Thou  liest  thoughtful  and  calm, 
150 


ifrciligratfi 


The  spotted  panthers  are  licking 
The  fingers  of  thy  left  palm  ; 
While  skilfully  thy  right  hand, 
Sparkling  with  jewxls  rare. 
Into  a  tress  is  twisting 
The  lion's  mane  of  yellow  hair  ; 

And  then  again  untwining  it. 

Into  a  five-toothed  prong. 

Dost  comb  the  hair's  dense  masses. 

His  tawny  back  along  ; 

His  flanks  are  proudly  heaving, — 

Anon,  with  the  same  hand 

Commandingly  thou  scarest 

The  slim  giraffes  across  the  sand. 

Upon  thy  shoulder  sitting, 
In  his  plumage  bright  display, 
Chattering  and  shrilly  screaming, 
Perches  a  parrot  gay  ; 
He  lays  his  beak  so  crooked 
Against  thy  listening  ear. 
With  strident  voice  and  ringing 
Relates  he  stories  strange  to  hear. 

A  silken  turban,  broidered 
With  flowers,  decks  thy  hair  : 
A  rich  and  costly  necklace. 
Such  as  Sultanas  wear. 


%  Century  of  oBerman  Xpricji 

Of  thousand  links  close  knitted 

To  chain  compact  and  sound, 

With  golden  coil  encircles 

Thy  neck  which  sun  and  heat  have  browned. 

Who  is  there,  that  has  seen  thee 
In  all  thy  splendour  quite  ? 
Dense  forests  ever  screen  thee, 
Waving  with  leafy  night 
Before  thy  golden  crescent. 
Before  thy  cheek's  rich  bloom. 
Before  thy  lips  of  scarlet, 
Before  thine  eye  which  flashes  gloom. 

None,  none  have  yet  beheld  thee, 

Oh  Queen,  from  face  to  face. 

Although  brave  suitors  many 

Advanced  with  fearless  pace, 

To  lift  the  veil  that  covers 

Thy  brow  with  mystic  fold, — 

Ah,  with  their  life  atoned  they. 

The  attempt  they  ventured  all  too  bold. 

From  off  thy  throne  arising, 
With  menace  dread  to  see  : 
*'  Arouse  ye,  oh  my  lions, 
Tear  him,  and  fight  for  me  ; 
Oh  sun,  thy  living  fire 
From  cloudless  tent  on  high, 

152 


3freUi0rat8 


Hurl  down  on  the  offender 

With  scorching  ardour,  hot  and  dry  ! 

*'  Subdue  his  strength,  ye  vapours, 

With  sultry  poisonous  breath, 

And  let  at  every  palm-tree 

A  javelin  threaten  death  ; 

Ye  curly-headed  negroes, 

Haste,  bring  to  me  his  blood, 

Let  fly  your  poisonous  arrows, 

And  take  an  aim  full  sure  and  good  !  " 

Then  up  doth  bound  the  lion, 
Roaring  with  fierce  delight. 
And  strikes  his  paw  unwieldy 
In  the  breast  of  the  hapless  white  ; 
From  every  bush  a  warrior 
With  hideous  grin  doth  leap. 
And  \yiih  its  breath  of  poison 
Simoom  the  desert  plain  doth  sweep. 

His  spur  the  Jolof  presses 

Deep  in  his  charger's  side  ; 

How  can  the  fainting  pale-face 

Such  rage  as  this  abide  ? 

All  gashed  and  gory,  sinking 

A  corpse  upon  the  sand, 

He  cruelly  hath  perished, 

Oh  dread  Sultana,  through  thy  hand  1 

153 


%  Century  of  overman  Xyric^ 


Thee,  whom  he  fain  desired 

To  disclose  to  every  eye, 

And  who  didst  therefore  bear  him 

Displeasure  kindled  high  ; 

Thee,  in  thy  sanctuary, 

He  would  have  glorified, 

Wherefore  didst  thou  deter  him 

To  publish  thine  own  fame  and  pride  ? 

The  negro  kings  who  saw  thee 
Thirst  for  the  white  man's  blood, 
Now  offer  it  unto  thee 
In  humble  suppliant  mood  ; 
The  golden  bowl  doth  brandish, 
Flashing  in  blood-red  sheen, 
That  many  a  drop  of  crimson 
Is  sprinkled  on  thy  veil  of  green. 

Thy  swelling  lips  thou  pressest 
Upon  the  vessel's  rim, 
On  the  yellow  sand  thou  gazest 
With  savage  smile  and  grim  ; 
The  corpse  before  thee  is  lying, 
Fiercely  the  sun  doth  sting  ; 
Through  ages  and  through  nations 
Thy  murdered  suitors'  fame  shall  ring  ! 


154 


jfreiUsratg 


Leviathan 

"  Thou  didst  divide  the  sea  by  thy  strength  ;  thou  brakest  the  heads 
of  the  dragons  in  the  waters.  Thou  brakest  the  heads  of  Leviathan  in 
pieces,  and  gavest  him  to  be  meat  to  the  people  inhabiting  the  wilder- 
ness."— Psalm  Ixxiv. 

'TwAS  in  the  early  autumn-time,  I  wandered  forth  upon  the 

strand, 
My  temples  bare,  my  eyes  downcast,  the  songs  of  David  in 

my  hand  : 
The  sea  was  rough,  the  tide  rolled  in,  a  fresh  east  wind  was 

whistling  high, 
On  the  horizon,  white  of  sail,  westwards  a  ship  was  flying  by. 

And  as  I,  in  King  David's  book,  now  skimming  and  now 
gazing  round. 

Had  come  unto  the  passage  that  prophetic  o'er  this  poem  is 
found, 

I  saw  three  fishing  smacks  approach,  which  drifting  slowly 
onwards  bore, 

Their  dusky  sails  furled  close,  towards  the  lonely  and  de- 
serted shore. 

Behind  them,  dipping  in  the  waves,  an  inky  mass  does  float 

along, 
A  giant  monster   of  the   sea ;    'twas   fastened   to  a  cable 

strong ; 

155 


%  CEUturn  of  €>cnnan  %iu*ic^ 

Loud  creak  the  spars,  the  sullen  surge  beats  on  the  shore, 

the  anchor's  cast, 
The   fishing  vessels   with    their  prize    upon   the  beach   are 

hauled  at  last. 

And  now  in  numbers,  to  the  call  of  husbands  and  of  brothers, 

haste 
The  people  of  the  wilderness  from  out  their  dwellings  in  the 

waste  ; 
They  gaze  on  ocean's  mighty  son,  his  body  slit  with  fearful 

gash, 
They  gaze  upon  his  shattered  head,  whose  rays  no  more  to 

heaven  shall  flash. 

But  few  years  since  the  ice-bound  Pole  gave  birth  to  this  its 

dripping  son ; 
A  novice  yet,  he  lost  his  way  on  to  this  shallow  coast  and  dun  ; 
Sandbanks  forbade  him  his  return  back  to  the  open  sea  to  take, 
And  with  a  fisher's  spear  the  Lord  this  young  sea-giant's  head 

doth  break. 

And  round  the  bleeding  animal  they  shouted,  and  it  seemed 

to  me 
As  though  with  fierce  contemptuous  eye  he  looked  on  their 

unfeeling  glee  ; 
Methought  his  crimson  bubbling  blood  was  ebbing  forili  in 

angry  flood  ; 
Methought  he  muttered  to  the  storm,  "  Oh,  despicable  human 

brood  ! 

156 


ifreiligratg 


(( 


Oh,  puny  dwarfs,  who  but  o'erreached  the  giant  with  deceit 

at  last, 
Pitiful  clods,  who  fain  must  shun  my  water)' empire  deep  and 

vast ; 
Weak  mortals,  who  but  venture  forth  in  hollow  bark  upon 

the  sea. 
Like  to  the  wretched  oyster,  that  ne'er  from  its  shell  apart 

can  be  ! 


<( 


Oh,  drear  inhospitable  coast  !  oh,  drear  and  empty  living 

there  ! 
Oh,  dreary  people  !    How  they  shook  when  first  my  snorting 

they  did  hear  ! 
How  comfortless  their  hovels  mean  upon  the  naked  beach  do 

lie! 
But  art  thou  better  much  than  they,  oh  Poet,  who  dost  see 

me  die  ? 

"I  would  I  were  where  ocean  ends,  and  where  the  world 

doth  cease  to  be, 
Where,  crashing  through  the  darkness  float  icebergs  in  frozen 

majesty  ; 
I  would  a  swordfish,  whetting  there  his  knife  on  ice  so  white 

and  clear. 
Would  flash  it  swiftly  through  my  breast— at  least,  I  should 

not  perish  here  !  " 

Twas  in  the  early  autumn-time,  a  fresh  east  wind  was  whi>t- 

ling  high, 
On  the  horizon,  white  of  sail,  westwards  a  ship  was  flying  by  ; 


%  Century  of  overman  Xyric^ 


I  turned  aside,  I  threw  me  down  upon  the  sand  : — the  Lord 

doth  give 
The  giant's  broken  head  as  meat  to  them  that  in  the  desert 

live. 


The  Dreadnought  Hospital 

Across  the  Thames'  flagged  surface  behold 
Through  the  forest  of  vessels  yon  vessel  old  ; 
Its  planks  are  tainted  with  death  and  sigh, 
Its  pennon  is  black  which  floats  on  high. 

How  different  but  short  time  ago, 
O'er  the  seas  it  shed  the  matchlock's  glow ; 
'Tis  a  ship  of  the  line  used  to  sea-fight's  roar, 
Once  fourscore  guns  and  Nelson  it  bore. 

'Tis  the  floating  hospital  of  the  fleet : 
In  the  gun-room  bed  beside  bed  you  greet, 
From  the  ceiling  the  pendant  lamp  sheds  glow 
On  the  death-pale  ranks  of  the  sick  below. 

A  gloomy  band  !     Every  breath  a  groan  ! 
They  rave  of  the  sea  and  their  native  zone  ! 
Their  fevered  frenzy  wings  forth  its  way 
To  foreign  climes  with  phantastic  sway. 

158 


frciligcatg 


Bold  rovers  they  from  every  land  ! 
From  the  shores  of  Sind,  from  the  Neva's  strand, 
From  the  heights  where  mule  and  llama  toil, 
The  wind  has  drifted  them  many  a  mile. 

Their  foreheads  glow  !     The  sea  !     The  world  ! 
Shattered  obelisk — Blockhouse — Tents  unfurled  ! 
The  caravan's  thunder  !     The  ocean  blue  ! 
Wherever  you  fly,  I  will  follow  too. 

On  then  !     The  Negro  starts  from  his  bed, 
His  sinewy  arms  he  tosses  o'erhead  ; 
His  last  wild  fever-dream  breaks  way : 
"  To  horse,  to  the  lion  hunt,  away  !  " 

The  Finn's  dull  eye  on  the  lamp  doth  brood  : 
"  From  the  clouds  I  see  it  dripping  blood  ! 
The  Torneo  Valley's  pine-trees  dun 
Are  bathed  in  the  glow  of  the  midnight  sun  ! " 

On  linen  pillow,  behold,  close  by 
A  countenance  bronzed  by  a  southern  sky ; 
With  parching  lip  and  hot  dry  hand, 
'Tis  a  Spaniard  from  the  Duero  strand. 

With  his  rolling  eye  that  shall  break  anon, 
His  phantom  dream  wildly  he  gazes  on  : — 
Towards  the  deep  blue  vault  of  a  Spanish  sky 
The  Alhambra  rears  its  turrets  high  ; 


%  Century  of  overman  Xuclc^ 

The  rose  blooms  red,  the  fountain  purls, 
Castagnettes  and  the  song  of  Spanish  girls. 
Their  locks  flash  like  jets  of  raven  flame, 
The  fandango  trembles  athwart  his  frame  ! 

Now  hark,  a  song  !     Crimea's  son  ! 

He  bids  his  horse  swim  through  the  Don  ; 

He  urges  it  through  the  sultry  track 

\\Tiich  the  traveller  crosses  on  camel's  back  ; 

His  horse  he  through  the  Don  doth  steer, — 
In  the  Steppes  a  spring  is  gushing  clear  ; 
Where  doth  fill  her  pitcher  the  Russian  maid 
His  charger's  fiery  course  he  stayed. 

He  must  go  where  Odessa's  wimples  fly, 
A  song,  a  kiss,  a  last  good-bye  ! 
Where  his  steed  he  watereth  in  the  plain, 
He  sings  a  wild  and  tender  strain. 

'Tis  a  Russian  song,  'tis  a  minor  strain. 
Full  oflove  and  full  of  a  yearning  pain  ; 
Like  a  sword  it  pierces  sharp  and  clear, 
The  dying  man  sings  it  dread  to  hear. 


It  trembles  across  from  bed  to  bed, — 
The  Chinese  doth  rouse  from  his  torpor  dead  ; 
With  his  narrow  eyes  he  glances  around, 
"  How  hollow  the  Porcelain  Tower  doth  sound  !  " 

1 60 


^Frcilisratij 


The  Hindoo  starts  with  listening  ear  : 
*'  How  the  Ganges  murmurs  and  rushes  near  ! 
How  proudly  the  palm  trees  wave  on  high  ! 
How  the  dress  of  the  Bayadere  doth  fly  !  " 

The  Brazilian  sailor  lifts  his  hand  : 
*'  Hark  the  breakers  booming  against  the  land  ! 
'Tis  the  ocean  lashes,  wild,  hissing,  and  free, 
The  ponderous  flags  of  Janeiro's  quay  !  " 

Sea  foam,  the  Steppes,  the  Bayadere  ! 
O'er  each  pillow  a  different  dream  is  there  ! 
From  each  burning  brain  there  issues  bright 
Another  image  forth  into  the  night  ! 

Ye  flaming  fires,  irom  south  and  north, 
From  twenty  brains  fierce  blazing  forth. 
Be  exorcised  !     Stand  in  your  dazzling  glare, 
An  Orbis  Pictus,  unique  and  rare. 

'Gainst  headlands,  Ocean,  thy  waves  let  dash. 
Gleam  forth,  ye  snowfields,  with  icy  flash  ; 
Shed  your  leaves,  bananas,  o'er  Ganges'  wave, 
Oh,  Desert,  your  dust  in  the  Niger  lave  ! 

To  the  powder-room  !     Let  each  foreign  race. 
With  seething  brain,  in  the  fight  take  place  ! 
Into  the  fogs  of  old  England  throw 
The  grenade  of  fever  frenzy  aglow  ! 

i6i  M 


%  Century?  of  overman  %yric^ 

With  its  shell,  wild  bursting,  lurid  and  grand, 
Let  them  storm  it  as  their  native  land  j 
Through  the  frigate  let  it  hiss  and  fly, 
Till  on  death-beds  it  pauses,  to  sink  and  die  ! 

Till  it  flashes  and  bursts  !     Behold,  'tis  done  ! 
It  expires  with  many  a  pang  and  groan  ! 
In  their  shrouds  lie  the  fallen — the  death-dew  damp 
On  their  brows — their  fist  closed  in  iron  cramp  ! 

Their  throbbing  temples  as  cold  as  snow  ! 
Their  skulls  dead  embers  ! — Even  so  ! 
The  smile  that  around  your  lips  doth  play. 
Confesses  you  victors  in  the  fray. 

It  shows  that  you  gained  the  land  once  more, 
Which  you  left  when  you  gaily  pushed  from  shore  ; 
That,  blissfully  dreaming,  anchor  you  cast, 
Where,  parting,  you  uttered  your  farewell  last; 

Where  you  waved  your  hat  in  fond  farewell ; — 
The  frigate  rocks  and  the  tide  doth  swell, 
The  coffins  are  lowered,  the  boats  push  ashore, 
A  volley  salutes  them  with  sullen  roar. 

All  you,  who  afar  did  hither  roam, 
Have  found  by  the  Thames  a  last  still  home  j 
The  daisies  star  your  turf  of  green — 
A  tomb  of  nations  this,  I  ween. 

162 


5freiligratB 


If  every  nation  that  gave  them  birth 
Were  now  to  appear  on  this  strip  of  earth, 
Were  to  utter  its  death -wail  loud  and  long, 
What  country  would  hear  such  another  song  ! 

From  bursting  throats  hear  it  rise  and  swell. 
Wild  Indian  shriek  and  Malayan  yell  ! 
In  spirit  I  hear  it  rend  Night's  shroud, 
A  roar  of  the  Universe,  piercing  and  loud  ! 

Do  you  hear  it  too,  ye  sleepers  below  ? 
No  answer  !— ^^^lispering  the  night  winds  blow ; 
From  afar  comes  the  roar  of  London's  town — 
Dark  flies  the  flag  o'er  the  river  brown. 


On  the  Drachenfels 

High  stood  I  on  the  Drachenfels, 
I  bit  my  lip,  my  eye  flashed  proudly, 
From  cliff  and  crag  with  joyous  yells 
My  pointer  roused  glad  echoes  loudly ; 
He  flew  before,  he  leaped  and  ran. 
As  though  some  game  he  were  pursuing, 
But  I  looked  forth,  a  joyful  man. 
The  scene  beneath  me  lost  in  viewing. 

163 


2C  Centurp  of  overman  %prii:*i 


In  luscious  glory  of  its  vine 
Of  purple  and  of  yellow  cluster, 
I  saw  the  Valley  of  the  Rhine, 
Arch,  like  a  goblet  green  of  lustre  ; 
A  chalice  rare  ! — Tradition  dreams 
Upon  its  brink  on  ruins  hoary  ; 
The  wine  that  in  the  goblet  foams — 
Love  and  Romance,  renowned  in  story  ! 

Lo,  how  it  sparkles  !  joust  and  fight  ! 
Cheeks  glow  and  flush,  and  hearts  beat  madly. 
Helmet  and  casque  are  flashing  bright. 
And  fresh  fair  wounds  are  trickling  gladly  ; 
While  on  yon  turret  pensive  stands 
To  whom  are  lowered  lance  and  crest ; — 
Wherefore  am  I  thus  strangely  moved  ? 
What  sweet  foreboding  thrills  my  breast  ? 


Wild  Flowers 

Alone  I  strolled,  where  the  Rhine  stream  rolled, 
On  each  hedge  was  the  wild  rose  glowing, 
And  through  the  air,  the  perfume  rare 
Of  the  blooming  vine  was  blowing. 
The  poppies  red  their  briUiance  spread, 
The  corn  to  the  south  wind  was  bending, 
Over  Roland's  hill  a  falcon  shrill 
With  his  cry  the  air  was  rending 

164 


iFrcirigratJj 


In  mine  ear  there  rung  the  old  sweet  song 
"  Oh,  were  I  a  wild  young  falcon  !  " 
Oh,  thou  melody,  as  a  falcon  shy. 
And  as  bold,  too,  as  a  falcon  ! 
Who  will  sing  and  try?    To  the  sun  on  high 
Shall  the  song  on  its  wings  upwave  me, 
'Gainst  a  window  small,  against  bars  withal, 
With  my  pinions  I'll  flutter  bravely. 

\Miere  you  see  a  rose,  where  a  curtain  blows, 

Where  skiffs  on  the  shore  are  lying, 

Where  two  eyes  of  brown  the  stream  gaze  down, 

I  fain  would  be  flying,  flying  ! 

There  with  talon  strong,  and  my  wildwood  song, 

At  her  feet  I  would  fain  be  sitting. 

Encircling  now  full  proudly  her  brow 

With  soft  and  tender  greeting  ! 

Oh,  but  well  I  sang,  and  full  well  I  ran. 

But  no  wings  could  I  unfold  then  ; 

And  my  heart  was  sore,  as  the  ears  I  tore 

Off  the  stems  of  the  grain  so  golden  ; 

Bending  bough  and  bush,  rending  reed  and  rush, 

I  ceased  not  from  tearing  and  grasping, 

Till  breathless  and  worn,  and  my  hands  all  torn, 

I  threw  me  down  all  gasping. 

On  the  mountains  mirth,  joy  upon  the  earth, 
In  the  river  boys  were  sporting  ; 

165 


%  Centurp  of  (German  %^x\t§ 


But  lonely  I  sat  dreamily 

My  bunch  of  wild  flowers  sorting  ! 

My  nosegay  wild  !    More  than  one  lass  smiled 

To  look  at  these  flowers  and  me,  love, 

But  your  hand  will  take  the  poor  gift  for  the  sake 

Of  a  day  I  thought  on  thee,  love  ! 

'Tis  a  humble  knot  of  flowers,  I  wot, 
As  might  grace  a  peasant's  dwelling  ; 
Some  cornflowers  blue,  and  clover  too, 
Such  as  grow  each  field  and  dell  in ; 
Sweet  eglantine,  and  a  spray  of  vine 
With  its  tendrils  green  to  bind  them, — 
Stuff  of  little  worth— like  him  who  went  forth 
To  meadow  and  wood  to  find  them  ! 

Flashes  fire  from  his  eye,  his  cheeks  flush  high. 

His  hands  he  clenches  trembling, 

His  heart  doth  throb,  seething  hot  his  blood, 

His  brow  a  black  cloud  resembling  ; 

His  flowers  see  ! — Wretched  weeds  and  he 

Despised  and  forsaken  are  lying  ; 

His  breast  doth  heave,— wilt  thou  pass  and  leave 

Him  and  them  by  the  wayside  dying  ? 


i66 


jFreilisratS 


A  Hamlet  on  the  Rhine  ^ 

Romance,  I  greet  thee  !    Lo,  thy  eyrie  bold  ! 

Its  slender  turrets  in  the  air  up-towering, 
Its  crumbling  porches,  mossy  ruins  old, 
Its  castle,  firm  and  rugged  to  behold, 

How  doth  it  wrap  my  soul  with  sway  o'erpowering  ! 
Hail,  once  again  !    I  tread  in  pensive  dream 
Thy  fairest  refuge  on  the  Rhine's  fair  stream. 

Thou  still  art  here  !    In  weeds  of  cloister  plain. 
Through  coloured  panes  thou  gazest  on  me  sadly, 

Outlawed  thou  art  by  Reason  and  her  train, 

Alas  !  the  wisdom  of  this  age  were  fain 
To  banish  thee  for  evermore  and  gladly  ! 

In  river  strongholds,  tottering  and  decayed. 

Thou  hidest  tremblingly,  oh  wondrous  maid  ! 

In  churches,  ah,  so  desolate  and  bare, 
Yon  is  the  place  where  loud  thy  soul  is  wailing  ! 

In  empty  churches,  thou,  with  streaming  hair. 

Dost  weeping  kneel  with  many  a  broken  prayer, 
And  fervent  clinging  to  the  altar's  railing, 

Within  whose  shadow's  ever  sacred  calm 

Dost  seek  devout  a  sanctuary's  balm  ! 

1  Oberwesel. 
167 


%  Century  of  overman  Xpric^ 


Yet  thou  art  she,  whom  oft  in  days  of  yore 

A  nation's  best  with  rapt  delight  praised  loudly, 

Whom  Ludwig  Tieck's  white  palfrey  ofttimes  bore, 

Who,  through  the  wood  of  poesy,  before 

Didst  dash — Brentano,  Arnim  following  proudly; — 

Glows  bright  the  forest,  silver-springs  around, 

And  like  a  dream  the  Wonder  Horn  doth  sound. 

Days  long  since  past  ! — Adown  the  shore  strode  I, 
— Not  Volker  saw  the  Rhine  more  limpid  racing — 

A  steamboat  on  its  way  went  rushing  by. 

The  wheel  ploughed  deep,  and  threw  the  foam  on  high. 
Upon  the  deck  one  of  thy  priests  was  pacing ; 

The  youngest  sure — and  yet  already  now 

Gray  are  the  locks  that  float  round  Uhland's  brow  ! 

We  recognition  waved  ;  my  lonely  town 

He  soon  passed  by,  o'erlooking  the  swift  river ; 

Upon  us  twain  the  Loreley  gazed  down — 

Upon  my  lips  a  cry  of  joy  I  drown. 

But  in  my  eyes  hot  tears  all  trembling  quiver  ; 

A  mournful  song  into  my  memory  came, 

"Three  students  crossed  the  Rhine" — this  was  its  name. 

Yes,  this  the  Rhine,  whose  wave  conceals  the  gold 
Whereon  old  Uhland's  eyes  with  pleasure  glisted  ! 

And  yon  himself  ! — Romance,  ah  !  there  behold 

The  inspired  lip  that  truly  could  unfold 
With  magic  word,  thy  glamour  an  he  listed  ; 

i68 


jfreiligratg 


Yon  is  the  eye,  that  in  the  enchanted  Ring, 
Beside  the  witch-ehn,  bathed  in  thy  clear  spring  ! 

That  he  was  passing— ah  !  how  well  you  knew  ! 

From  crag  and  chink,  forth  through  the  dewy  morning 
You  gazed  on  him  ; — a  sunny  smile  there  flew 
Just  as  the  vessel  turned  into  my  view. 

O'er  thy  wan  features'  sad  resigned  mourning  ! 
With  mournful  pleasure,  thou,  on  bended  knee, 
Upon  thy  river  thine  own  bard  didst  see  ! 

Yonder  he  fled,  thy  youngest,  truest  knight  ! 

The  last  smoke  fades  in  air,  the  ship  retreating  ; 
Gone,  too,  thy  smile  ;  the  hills  no  more  stand  bright ; — 
Thy  last  brave  champion  that  for  thee  doth  fight, — 

And  on  a  steamer  ! — strange  my  heart  is  beating  ! — 
Mediaeval  inspiration  borne  away 
By  a  new  era's  all  resistless  sway  ! 

A  simile  !    It  entered  full  my  soul 

And  would  not  thence  again,  my  will  defj'ing  ! 

The  melancholy  hence  that  o'er  me  stole, — 

Thou  Pale  One,  hushed  and  silent  be  thy  dole  I 
An  iron  age  'tis  for  thee,  harsh  and  trying  ! 

Heedless  it  undermines  thy  tottering  throne, 

Alas,  not  with  its  steamer's  keel  alone  ! 

Thy  empire.  Lady,  has  departed  long  ; 

The  world  has  changed  ;  where,  now,  are  thy  dominions? 

169 


%  Centurji  of  a^etman  %yri:^ 


Another  spirit  than  thine  rules  firm  and  strong  ; 
It  throbs  in  life,  and  flames  out  into  song, 

None  e'er  before  it  fluttered  thus  its  pinions  ! 
I  also  serve  and  wish  it  victory  glad, — 
But  why  wage  war  with  thee,  thou  exile  sad  ? 

Thou,  whose  proud  banner  but  from  mould'ring  wall 
Doth  lonely  float,  through  the  dull  air  slow-sailing, 

Thou,  the  Dethroned  ! — with  agitated  soul 

Down  at  thy  feet,  I  humbly,  sadly  fall, 
A  solemn  witness  of  thy  widow's  wailing  ! 

A  child,  all  feverish,  of  this  Era  new, 

Yet  for  the  Past  piously  mourning  too  ! 

Not  as  a  boy  ! — Only  one  hour,  lo  ! 

Stretched  at  thy  feet,  I'll  join  thee  in  thy  sorrow  ! 
The  Spirit  fresh  that  through  these  times  doth  blow, 
I've  promised  it ;  it  has  my  word  and  vow, 

My  blade  must  flash  yet  in  the  fight  to-morrow  ! 
Only  one  hour  !     But  that  devoted  quite 
To  Thee  alone,  and  to  thy  glory  bright. 

There,  take  me  to  thee,  take  me  in  thy  hold  ! 

Hail,  battlements,  high  in  the  air  up-towering  ! 
Hail,  crumbling  porches,  mossy  ruins  old  ! 
Hail,  castle  stern  !     Thou  falcon's  eyrie  bold  ! 

How  do  ye  wrap  my  soul  with  sway  o'erpowering  ! 
Yon  doth  the  Pfalz  in  fiery  sunset  shine. 
The  clouds  seem  castles — yes  !  this  land  is  thine  I 

170 


i!ui\mm 


A  church  ! — I  enter  it  as  in  a  dream  ; 

The  windows,  richly  stained,  are  deeply  glowing  ; 
The  foliaged  pillars  throw  out  haughty  gleam, 
And  through  the  gloomy  cloister's  arches  dim. 

Careless  and  wild,  a  garden  small  is  showing, 
Blending  its  azure  and  its  verdure  gay 
With  the  cathedral's  ever  sombre  gray. 

And,  softly  trembling,  nods  the  shadow  light 

Of  waving  boughs,  upon  the  church-wall  playing ; 
Upon  the  tomb  of  Lady  and  of  Knight, 
Their  figures,  carved  in  marble,  stand  upright, 

Their  hands  are  raised  aloft,  as  if  for  praying  ; 
Gently  resigned  their  pallid  faces  beam, 
The  peace  of  death  o'er  both  doth  brightly  stream. 

A  sacred  lull ! — bustle  and  trade  far  gone  ! — 
Romance,  behold,  my  mourning  fast  is  fleeting  ! 

That  joy  and  peace  divine,  which  is  not  known 

Unto  the  world,  alas  ! — to  thee,  alone  ! 
Here  can  I  feel  it  in  my  bosom  beating ; 

Earth  fades  away,  and  Heaven  in  blissful  arms 

Enfolds  me  close, — hushed  are  the  world's  alarms  ! 

Enough,  enough  !  such  haven  not  for  aye  ! 

Back  to  the  Present  !     Great  is  life's  attraction  ! 
But  what  this  spot  into  my  heart  doth  lay 
May't  flame  for  ever  !     In  my  pulses  may 

It  throb  unceasing,  hallowing  every  action  ! 

171 


%  Centucgi  of  overman  %yric^ 


May't  give  me  gladness,  strength  and  courage  free, 
When  the  loud  day  shall  hoarsely  summon  me  ! 

Thus  will  my  service  of  the  Time  be  pure  ! 

Oh,  exiled  maid  !  with  thee  I  would  be  grieving  ; 
I  came  thy  shrine  to  wet  with  teardrops,  sure, 
And  lo,  thou  gav'st  me  power  to  endure  ; 

Thy  peace  doth  fill  me  ;  calm,  behold  me  leaving  ! 
Thou  shed'st  thy  light  around  me,  I  depart — 
An  exile — but  e'en  now  a  Queen  thou  art  ! 

Farewell,  to-day  !     The  sunset's  molten  gold 

Floods  the  dim  aisle  ;  the  deep-toned  bells  are  ringing ; 

Church  banners  flutter  o'er  me  half  unrolled — 

Ye  Ever  Wise,  whom  all  things  must  be  told. 

Who  therefore  ask,  what  now  I  have  been  singing  ? — 

Doth  glow  the  eternal  lamp,  and  incense  roll — 

Call  it  a  Requiem  for  Brentano's  soul  ! 


The  Trumpet  of  Gravelotte  ^ 

{August,  1870) 

Death  and  destruction  they  belched  forth  in  vain 

We  grimly  defied  their  thunder  ; 
Two  columns  of  foot  and  batteries  twain, 

We  rode  and  cleft  them  asunder. 

1  This  poem  was  suggested  by  a  fact,  communicated  at  the  time  by 
the  newspapers. 

172 


ifteiligratjj 


With  brandished  sabres,  with  reins  all  slack, 
Raised  standard  and  low-couched  lances 

Thus  we  Uhlans  and  Cuirassiers  wildly  drove  back, 
And  fiercely  repelled  their  advances. 

But  the  ride  was  a  ride  of  death  and  of  blood  ; 

With  our  thrusts  we  forced  them  to  sever, 
But  of  two  whole  regiments,  lusty  and  good. 

Out  of  two  men  one  rose  never. 

With  breast  shot  through,  with  brow  gaping  wide, 
They  lay  stark  and  cold  in  the  valley, 

Snatched  away  in  their  youth,  in  their  manhood's  pride- 
Now,  Trumpeter,  sound  to  the  rally  ! 

And  he  took  the  trumpet,  whose  angry  thrill 

Urged  us  on  to  the  glorious  battle, 
And  he  blew  a  blast— but  all  silent  and  still 

Was  the  trump,  save  a  dull  hoarse  rattle  ; 

Save  a  voiceless  wail,  sare  a  cry  of  woe, 

That  burst  forth  in  fitful  throbbing— 
A  bullet  had  pierced  its  metal  through. 

For  the  Dead  the  wounded  was  sobbing  ! 

For  the  faithful,  the  brave,  for  our  brethren  all, 
For  the  Watch  on  the  Rhine,  true-hearted  ! 

—Oh,  the  sound  cut  into  our  inmost  soul  ! — 
It  brokenly  wailed  the  Departed^. 


%  Centurii  of  overman  %yrici^ 

And  now  fell  the  night,  and  we  galloped  past, 
Watch-fires  were  flaring  and  flying. 

Our  chargers  snorted,  the  rain  poured  fast — 
And  we  thought  of  the  dead  and  the  dying. 


174 


CmanutI  Ceifiel 


In  April 

0  HUMID  eve  of  April, 
How  dear  to  me  you  are ; 

The  sky  is  all  cloud-curtained, 
With  here  and  there  a  star. 

Like  breath  of  love  so  balmy 
The  air  blows  warm  and  wet ; 

From  out  the  valley  rises 
Faint  scent  of  violet. 

1  fain  a  song  would  utter 
That  like  this  eve  shall  be. 

And  cannot  find  so  dreamy, 
So  soft  a  melody. 


175 


Resignation 

Methought  that  already  the  swallow  dreamed 

Of  her  own  true  nest ; 
Methought  that  already  the  lark  had  tried 

The  songs  in  her  breast  ; 
Methought  that  already  the  blossoms  were  kissed 

By  winds  of  the  west ; 
Methought  that  already  I  held  thee  clasped, 

Eternally  blest. 

How  winterly  have  you  turned  overnight, 

Ye  zephyrs  mild ; 
How  dead  and  frozen  the  blossoms  o'ernight 

But  yesterday  smiled ; 
How  the  lark  has  forgotten  overnight 

Her  spring-song  wild  ; 
And  ah,  how  forgotten  overnight 

Thy  poor,  poor  child  1 


176 


djDttfrieb  ittlitt 

Woodland  Songs 
I. 

Stands   the  mighty   oaken   forest,    waving   leafy   summits 

hoary. 
And  to-day,  in  high  good  humour,  it  has  sung  its  old,  old 

story. 

First  began  a  tender  sapling,  gently  in  the  breezes  bending, 
Then   the   tempest   gathered   fury,    ever   growing,    roaring, 
rending. 

Lo,  it  sweeps  in  stormy  billows,  roUing  by  in  solemn  gladness  ; 
Raving  through  the  highest  branches  shrieks  the  wind  aloud 
in  madness. 

High  o'erhead    now   howls   the   tempest,   wildly  whistling, 

weirdly  moaning ; 
Deep  below,  amongst  the  rootwork,  you  can  hear  it  creaking, 

groaning. 

177  N 


%  Century  of  oBcrman  %pric|^ 


Sometimes  yells  a  single  oak  tree,  brandishing  its  shaft  to 

heaven, 
Thundering  answer  gives  the  forest,    tumult  wild  of  leafy 

leaven. 

Even  to  a  boiling  springtide  this  grand  pastime  all  resembled, 
Towards  the  North  the  foliage  whitened  ;  wind-swept,  silver 
gray  it  trembled. 

Thus,  now  playing  loud,  now  softly,  doth  old  Pan  still  strike 

his  lyre. 
Teaching  all  his  woods  and  forests  his  world-ancient  chaunt 

and  quire. 

Inexhaustibly  he  wanders  up  and  down  his  gamut  sweeping, 
That  in  seven  tones   containeth  the  world -harmony  in  its 
keeping. 

And  'neath  dripping  leaves,  young  poets  and  young  fledglings 

cower  shrinking. 
While  in  silence  they  both  listen,  all  the  melody  in-drinking. 


My  Bright  Eyes  are  Shining 

My  bright  eyes  are  shining 
Like  the  heavens  afar. 

Ride  hither  and  thither, 
Thou  slim  brown  Hussar. 
178 


mntt 

Ride  hither  and  thither, 
Then  ride  back  again, 

Perhaps  it  may  happen. 
Thou  find  est  thy  gain ! 

Why"  grazes  thy  charger 
In  my  sweet  mignonette  ? 

Is  that  for  my  true  love 
All  the  thanks  that  I  get  ? 

Thy  spurs  why  entangle 
In  my  soft  spinning  yam  ? 

Why  hang  thy  red  jacket 
On  the  door  by  the  bam  ? 

Sheer  off,  saucy  rider. 
On  thy  charger  so  free, 

And  leave  my  glad  star-eyes 
In  peace  unto  me. 


By  flowing  Waters 

I  DREAMILY  ponder 
By  the  water's  soft  flow. 
And  bend  my  rapt  gaze 
On  the  billows  below  ; 
179 


%  Century  of  overman  Xpric^ 

I  seek — what  ? — I  know  not, 
In  each  foam-whitened  crest ; 
Forgotten  old  visions 
Awake  in  my  breast. 

Anon,  flashes  by  me 
In  crystalline  clearness. 
With  lips  that  are  smiling, 
In  swift  sudden  nearness, 
The  World-face  familiar. 
So  ancient  and  bright  ! 
Its  eye  rested  on  me 
With  heavenly  light. 

Where  has  it  evanished — 
With  the  billows  that  rove  ? 
Whence  has  it  descended — 
From  the  welkin  above  ! 
For  as  I  gazed  upward 
Into  cloud-drift  on  high 
I  just  saw  it  fading 
Away  in  the  sky. 

I  see  it  most  often 
When  winds  are  at  rest. 
And  ever  its  radiance 
Expandeth  my  breast ; 
But  when  my  soul  needeth 
Its  full  presence  near, 
I  see  it  in  storm,  too, 
Distinctly  and  clear. 
1 80 


Mtlln 


Winter  Night 

Not  a  wing  beat  through  the  frozen  air, 
Calm  and  silent  lay  the  dazzling  snow. 
Not  a  cloud  hung  on  the  night-sky  fair, 
Not  a  wave  stirred  the  numb  lake  below. 

From  its  depth  arose  the  coral-tree 
Till  its  summit  touched  the  ice  and  froze ; 
Climbing  up  upon  its  branches  free. 
Gazing  upwards  still,  the  Nixie  rose. 

And  I  stood  upon  the  fragile  glass 
^^^lich  divided  that  black  gulf  from  me. 
Close,  close  under  foot  I  saw  her  pass, 
Her  white  beauty  limb  by  limb  did  see. 

And  with  stifled  moan  she  gropes  along 
That  hard  roof,  all  green  and  crystalline  ; 
Never,  never  shall  I  cease  to  long 
For  that  sweet  dark  face  so  close  to  mine  ! 


i8i 


"  He  talked,  oh  so  much  " 

He  talked,  oh  so  much,  but  not  yes  and  not  no 

I  replied,  all  I  said  was  :    "  Now,  John,  I  must  go  ! " 

He  talked  both  of  heaven  and  earth  and  his  love. 

He  talked — I  scarce  know  now  what  things  he  talked  of. 

He  talked,  oh  so  much,  but  not  yes  and  not  no 

I  replied,  all  I  said  was  :    "  Now,  John,  I  must  go  ! " 

He  held  fast  my  hand  ;  with  a  tear  in  his  eye 
He  asked  could  I  love  him,  and  would  I  not  try  ? 

Though  not  angry,  I  said  not  a  word,  yes  or  no, 
And  all  that  I  said  was  :    "  Now,  John,  I  must  go  1 " 

And  now  sitting  thinking,  my  thoughts  will  run  on. 
That  I  ought  to  have  said  :    "  Ah,  how  joyfully,  John  !  " 

Yet,  came  he  to-morrow — not  yes  and  not  no 
Would  I  answer,  but  only  :    "  Now,  John,  I  must  go." 

182 


FOLK   LORE 
Old  Busum 

In  the  wild  Haff  lies  Biisum  brave, 
The  tide  crept  up  and  delved  a  grave. 

The  stealthy  tide  crept  sure  and  slow. 
Till  it  had  gnawed  the  island  through. 

No  fence  remained,  nor  stick  nor  stone, 
The  waves  washed  all  remorseless  down. 

Nor  dog  nor  beast  again  gave  sound, 
They  all  lie  deep  on  ocean's  ground. 

And  all  who  lived  and  laughed  in  light, 
The  sea  has  covered  with  black  night. 

WTiiles,  when  the  tide  is  very  low. 
Sometimes  the  tops  of  houses  show. 

A  church  spire  points  from  out  the  sand, 
As  'twere  the  finger  of  a  hand. 

Then  you  may  hear  the  bells  soft  ringing. 
Then  you  may  hear  a  soft  sad  singing  ; 

Then  you  may  hear  a  hushed  low  cry  : 
"Bury  our  limbs  in  earth  on  high." 

183 


%  Century  of  oBerman  X-iiric^ 


"  He  woke  " 

She  entered  softly  in  her  shroud  and  held  a  burning  light, 
She  was  still  paler  than  her  shroud  and  as  the  wall  so  white. 

Thus  came  she  slowly  towards  the  bed,  the  curtains  drew 

away, 
She  held  the  candle  to  his  face  and  bent  down  where  he  lay. 

Her  mouth  and  eyes  were  firmly  closed,  the  lashes  touched 

her  cheek, 
No  limb  she  moved  and  yet  she  looked  as  one  who  fain  would 

speak. 

Cold  terror  crept  along  his  back  and  froze  his  blood  and 

bone, 
He  thought  to  shriek  in  deadly  fear,  but  lo,  his  voice  was 

gone. 

He  thought  to  seize  it  with  his  hands,  the  spectre  cold  and 

mute. 
And  felt  in  all  his  agony,  he  stirred  nor  hand  nor  foot. 

And  when  he  woke  from  out  his  trance,  she  went  out  by  the 

door. 
As  pale  as  death,  in  graveyard  shroud,  holding  the  light 

before. 


184 


oBratg 


The  Haunted  Moor 

What  moans  so  loud  in  moor  and  bush  ? 
Sure  'tis  the  wind  in  reed  and  rush  ; 
'Tis  neither  reed  nor  nightwind's  sigh, 
'Tis  woman's  moan  and  infant's  cry. 

You  hear  it  wailing  weak  and  ill, 
All  night  you  hear  it  sobbing  still ; 
But  ere  the  morning  sun  comes  round 
It  sinks  like  mist  into  the  ground. 

And  when  the  shepherd  sleeps  at  noon, 
He  hears  a  distant  muffled  croon, 
So  deep,  so  hollow,  soft  and  low. 
As  mother  hushed  her  child  below. 

It  is  a  restless  soul,  they  say. 
That  flies  at  morning's  streak  away ; 
It  is  a  soul  whose  peace  is  gone, 
That  sadly  thus  doth  make  its  moan. 

And  when  the  moor  is  bleak  and  bare. 
And  autumn  leaves  whirl  through  the  air. 
Then  flies,  'midst  all  the  uproar  wild, 
A  death-pale  maiden  with  her  child. 

Upon  yon  heath  there  is  a  moor. 
There  willows  grow  but  scant  and  poor  ; 

i8s 


%  Centurp  of  overman  Xpricj^ 


Upon  yon  heath  a  pool  lies  drear. 
There  neither  frog  nor  toad  you  hear. 

The  white  sheepgrass  grows  all  around, 
Its  depth  no  man  as  yet  did  sound  ; 
Its  water  sickers  green  and  slow, 
And  only  breaks  whiles  further  through. 

That  is  the  place  she  threw  it  in. 
Now  she  must  haunt  it  for  its  sin  ; 
She  stands  and  wild  her  locks  doth  tear, 
Then  she  is  gone  until  next  year. 

Autumn  is  near,  the  quail  doth  cry, 
The  cuckoo  long  hath  said  good-bye  ; — 
Listen,  how  loud  the  moans  and  clear, 
'Twill  soon  be  silent  till  next  year. 


The  Haunted  House 

By  day  it  looks  a  cheerful  house,  with  panes  and  windows 

bright, 
But  soon  as  twilight  dim  sets  in,  'tis  eerie  then  by  night. 

Then  someone   steals  on  slippers   soft   down   passage  and 

by  door, 
But  when  at  length  the  morning  dawns,  the  sound  is  heard  no 

more. 

i86 


'Tis  just  as  if  a  M'oman  old  were  looking  all  the  night 
For  something  that  she  could  not  find,   and  searched    till 
morning's  light. 

From  out  the  parlour  it  comes  forth  and  wanders  all  about, 
It  tries  each  door  and  feels  each  lock,  as  though  the  key  were 
out. 

It  fumbles  at  the  kitchen  door,  it  gently  lifts  the  latch, 
And  feels  its  darkling  way  about  with  many  a  grope  and 
scratch. 

Then  on  it  shuffles  'gainst  the  wall,  and  rustles  as  it  goes. 
And  now  the  stairs  begin  to  creak  beneath  the  ghostly  toes. 

And  in  the  lumber  attic  next  doth  rummage  without  end. 
Till  slams  the  door  with  muffled  sound, — again  it  doth  descend. 

The  large  room  hath  an  iron  chain,  'tis  clanked  whole  hours 

they  say — 
But  all  doth  vanish  when  the  cock  doth  crow  at  break  of  day. 


The  Holy  Oak 

There  stands  a  tree  the  churchyard  by,  close  to  the  winding 

brook, 
The  village  boys  climb  every  tree,  but  never  climb  this  oak. 

A  gnarled  old  trunk  it  stands  alone,  all  twisted  and  awry, 
One  branch,  like  to  a  threatening  arm,  it  stretches  to  the  sky. 

187 


%  Century  of  <i5erman  %jiric^ 


The  village  boys  climb  every  tree,   but  this  old  oak   they 

shun, 
At  night  it  threatens  with  its  arm  and  awes  the  noisiest  one. 

At  night  it  threatens  with  its  arm,  and  strikes  them  dumb  with 

fear, 
Then  neither  child  nor  woman  goes  alone  the  churchyard 

near. 

The  birds  they  fly  in  every  tree,  light  flitting  to  and  fro, 
Here  not  a  sparrow  will  alight,  nor  even  owl  or  crow. 

High  on  the  top  dost  rock  a  nest,  'tis  never  left,  they  say, 
A  coal-black  raven  sits  within,   and  screams  by  night  and 
day. 

He  screams  so  hollow  all  the  year,  his  voice  is  hoarse  and 

harsh, 
He  thus  has  screamed  as  long  as  men  have  lived  upon  the 

marsh. 

'Tis  said  he'll  scream  a  hundred  years,  then  fly  to  North 

away, 
Then  will  a  mighty  branch  shoot  forth  from  the  old  oak,  they 

say : 

Then  will  another  bird  come  down,  with  wings  all  white 

to  see, 
And  build  its  nest  upon  the  oak,  then  will  the  good  lime  be  : 

1 88 


a3rotB 

Then  birds  will  seek  the  oak  again,  then  boys  will  romp  and 

climb, 
Then  will  the  old  folk  rest  beneath,  in  that  good  coming  time. 

The  raven  screams,  the  tree  stands  dark,   the  leaves  whirl 

from  the  bough — 
Methinks  "twill  ever  stand  as  grim,  as  desolate  as  now. 


The  Knotted  Stick 

He  had  a  stout  old  walking  stick,  a  blackthorn  strong,  I  wot, 
'Twas  tipped  with  ferrule  bright  of  brass,  a  nail  in  every  knot. 

With  staff  of  oak  and  Spanish  cane  it  stood  behind  the  door, 
And  when  it  raps,  he  forth  must  wend,  far  over  fell  and  moor. 

Then  he  turns  pale,  his  mother  weeps,  and  earnestly  doth 

pray, 
But  though  she  pray  and  though  she  weep,  at  home  he  may 

not  stay. 

He  takes  the  stick  from  out  its  nook,  his  face  of  ashen  hue, 
He  takes  his  hat,  no  word  doth  speak,  and  wanders  all  night 
through. 

And  whether  he  doth  sit  at  meals,  or  whether  he  doth  sleep. 
Ay,  though  he  slept  the  sleep  of  death,  'twould  break  that 
slumber  deep. 

189 


SC  Ccntnrp  of  overman  %yric| 

Then  he  must  rise  in  dreary  night  and  grope  behind  the  door, 
And  wander  with  his  stick  alone  o'er  fell  and  snowy  moor. 

His  mother  lies  awake  and  weeps,   but  ere  the   farm  cock 

crows, 
He  doth  return,  as  pale  as  death,  as  from  the  grave  he  rose. 

Then  he  doth  neither  eat  nor  drink,  but  lies  in  stupor  dead  ; 
Then  silently  works  on  again,  till  the  next  summons  dread. 

And  when  he's  called  he  cannot  rest,  but  he  must  straight 

away, 
But  always  he  returns  again  before  the  break  of  day. 

Where  doth  he  go  ?    He  never  says,  nor  what  he  sees  doth  tell, 
But  he  doth  know  each  funeral  round,  ere  tolls  the  passing 
bell. 

They  say,  as  soon  as  the  last  month  of  any  man  has  run, 
He  must  away,  if  he  walk  miles,  till  he  has  found  that  one. 

And  that,  on  gazing  through  the  panes,  as  corpse  in  shroud 

doth  see, 
WTio  with  his  children  yet  doth  romp  perchance  in  careless 

glee. 

Then  at   the  window  taps    he   thrice,    peering  with  glassy 

stare. 
Full  many  a  heart  has  given  a  bound  and   spinning-wheel 

stopped  there. 

190 


a3rot8 

Full  many  a  heart  has  jumped   with  fright,  when  on  the 

shutters  low, 
His  rap  is  heard,  one,  two,  and  three ;  and  then  his  face 

doth  show. 

Then  is  he  gone  !    And  now,  they  say,  he  meets  the  funeral 

slow, 
Then  must  he  fly  right  o'er  their  heads,  high  through  the 

air  must  go. 

High  over  heads  and  shoulders  all,  high  o'er  the  coffin  too. 
Then  must  he  watch    them    passing  on  where  grows   the 
churchyard  yew. 

Then  has  he  neither  peace  nor  rest  till  tolls  the  passing  bell, 
And  he  has  seen  the  funeral  train  a  second  time  as  v.-ell. 

With  clouded  cane  and  oaken  staff  the  stick  stands  by  the 

door, 
And  when  it  raps  he   forth  must  wend,  far  over  fell  and 

moor. 

He's  thrown  it  down  a  quarr>'  deep,  he's  thrown  it  in  the 

brook. 
But  when  he  opes  his  parlour  door,  the  stick  stood  in  its 

nook. 

He's  fiercely  broken  it  in  twain,  he's  chopped  it  o'er  and 

o'er. 
Arrived  at  home,  the  stick  was  safe  behind  the  parlour  door. 

191 


%  Centurp  of  o^ermau  Xginc^ 


He  bunded  it— there  it  was  again  ;  he  lost  it,  back  it  came, 
And  burning,  losing,   chopping  it,  the  stick  was  there  the 
same. 

One  day,   'twas  just  on  Christmas-eve,  a  man  came  to  the 

door, 
He  went  and  fetched  the  knotted  stick,  and  it  was  seen  no 

more. 


Hans  Iwer 

His  land  lies  waste  and  drear  his  cot  ; 
His  soul  has  peace  at  last,  God  wot. 

Hans  Iwer  all  betimes  doth  rouse  : 

'*  Get  up  !  get  up  !  and  milk  the  cows  !  " 

The  girl  doth  start  with  fright  and  fear  : 
"  Coming,  Hans  Iwer  !  yes,  I  hear  !  " 

She  was  an  orphan  without  friends. 
She  says  her  prayers  ere  she  descends. 

Her  kirtle's  thin,  her  skirt  is  spare. 
She  throws  a  kerchief  o'er  her  hair. 

She  tucks  her  gown  unto  her  knee. 
She  takes  her  pails  and  forth  goes  she. 

So  young  and  weary  still  is  she, 
And  tottering  tremble  foot  and  knee. 

192 


The  grass  with  dew  is  wet  and  chill, 
The  meadows  lie  so  gray  and  still. 

And  then— she  knows  not  how  or  when, 
But  terror  cold  chills  every  vein. 

Is  it  a  fox  darts  o'er  the  way  ? 
Is  it  a  dog  doth  bark  and  bay  ? 

She  seems  to  hear  Hans  Iwer  call  : 
"  Get  up  and  milk  the  cows  withal  ! " 

She  springs  aside  all  in  her  fear. 
Good  God  !  a  wolf  is  standing  there  ! 

Shrouded  in  mist  he  barks  and  growls. 
The  wide  field  echoes  with  his  howls. 

Then,  shaking  like  an  aspen  bough, 

She  cries  :   "  Hans  Iwer  !  Coming  now  !  " 

And  when  her  fright  had  passed  away, 
The  wolf  had  vanished,  broke  the  day. 

She  milked  her  cows  and  home  she  sped. 
Sick  lay  Hans  Iwer  on  his  bed. 

That  night  he  died,  alone,  in  pain, 
No  man  the  werewolf  saw  again. 

His  soul  has  peace  at  last,  God  wot, 
But  waste  and  lone  lie  land  and  cot. 

193 


J|crmann  %muu 

The  Black  Death 

Tremble,  oh  world  !  The  Plague  am  I, 
Through  all  the  lands  I'm  going, 
Preparing  me  a  banquet  high, 
Fever  is  lurking  in  mine  eye. 
And  black  my  cloak  is  flowing. 

I  come  from  Egypt's  sultry  land, 

In  lurid  mists  red -veiling, — 

From  Nile's  fen-swamps,  from  murky  strand, 

From  dragons'  spawn  in  burning  sand 

Rank  poisonous  germs  inhaling. 

I  reap,  I  mow,  I  stretch  my  stave 
O'er  mountain  range  and  billow  ; 
I'm  laying  waste  the  world  so  brave, 
Before  each  house  I  plant  a  grave, 
And  eke  a  weeping  willow. 

194 


%ins0 

I  am  mankind's  Destroyer  dread, 
I'm  Death  the  grim,  the  awful ; 
Drought  stalks  before  me,  gaunt  of  tread. 
At  famine  price  I  sell  the  bread, 
To  war  the  heir  I'm  lawful. 

It  matters  not  how  far  you  hie, 
I  stride  with  stride  yet  wider  ; 
Swift-footed,  the  Black  Plague  am  I, 
The  swiftest  vessel  I  o'erfly, 
Outride  the  fastest  rider. 

The  merchant  in  his  merchandise. 
Home  bears  me  to  his  dwelling ; 
He  gives  a  feast  with  sparkling  eyes, — 
Forth  from  his  wealth  I  ghastly  rise. 
And  on  the  bier  I  fell  him. 

No  castled  rock  so  steeply  hung. 

To  me  it  must  surrender  ; 

No  pulse  doth  beat  for  me  too  strong, 

No  body  is  for  me  too  young. 

No  heart  for  me  too  tender. 

Whose  eyes  my  withering  eyes  infest, 

He  cares  for  day  no  longer ; 

Whose  board,  or  meat  or  wine,  I've  l;!ersed. 

He  thirsts  alone  for  rest,  for  rest, 

For  dust  alone  doth  hunger. 

195 


%  Century  of  overman  %^t\t§ 


In  Asia  died  the  mighty  Chan, — 
Where  Cinnamon  Isles  are  shining  ; 
Died  Negro  Prince  and  Mussulman  ; 
Nightly  you  hear  at  Ispahan 
The  dogs  round  carrion  whining. 

Byzantium  was  a  blooming  town, 

And  Venice  smiled  in  beauty, 

Now,  like  dead  leaf,  their  hosts  sink  down, 

And  who  collects  the  foliage  brown, 

Will  soon  be  quit  his  duty. 

Where  Norway's  farthest  cliffs  rise  white, 

Into  some  port  forsaken, 

I  cast  a  vessel  empty  quite. 

And  all  on  whom  I  breathed  my  blight. 

Must  slumber  ne'er  to  waken. 

They're  strewn  and  scattered  everywhere. 
Though  days  and  months  be  flying  ; 
No  soul  to  count  the  hours  hath  care  j — 
Years  hence,  you'll  silent  find  and  bare, 
Death's  City  lonely  lying. 


196 


Bulgarian  Lament 

Are  they  roses,  are  they  red,  red  blossoms. 
That  so  thickly  fill  our  homestead's  valley  ? 
Are  they  clouds  of  brown  and  white  wood -pigeon, 
That  fly  circling  roimd  yon  mountain  summit  ? 
Ah,  not  roses  they,  in  sooth,  nor  blossoms, 
Flames  are  they,  red  licking  flames,  and  lurid, 
That  so  thickly  fill  our  homestead's  valley, 
And  not  clouds  of  brown  and  white  wood  pigeon 
Which  encircle  yonder  mountain  summit ; 
Smoke  it  is,  dense  smoke,  opaque  and  rolling, 
For  our  lone  deserted  huts  are  burning. 

On  the  mountain  side  we  roam  as  vagrants, 
Hide  behind  the  bushes  e'en  as  Heyducs, 
Huddling  close  like  sheep  all  lost  and  straying. 
Cursed  be  they  who  set  on  fire  our  houses. 
Be  they  Muscovite,  or  be  they  Turkish, 

197 


%  Century  of  aJ>Erman  %yric^ 


Be  they  Christian,  ay,  or  be  they  heathen  ! 
May  God's  direst  curses  now  befall  them, 
Or  the  devil's  best  and  choicest  blessing  ! 
May  they  drown  by  thousands  in  the  Danube, 
Stopping  up  and  damming  her  blue  billows, 
As  they  desolated  our  poor  country. 
May  wild  Varna's  breakers  cast  ashore  them, 
And  there  leave  them,  black  and  rotting  corpses, 
That  the  very  air  may  steam  corruption. 

Out,  alas  !     What  now  will  say  our  pilgrims. 
Who  within  Jerusalem  are  resting. 
Kissing  there  our  Saviour's  feet,  the  golden. 
When  they  shall  return  and  find  their  houses 
Wasted  all  and  burnt,  and  naught  but  ashes  ? 
When  they  shall  return  with  pictures  beauteous 
Of  our  saints,  which  they  have  purchased  yonder, 
Painted  gay  in  colours,  rolled  on  rollers, 
And  shall  then,  alas,  a  wall  find  never 
Whereupon  to  hang  the  beauteous  pictures  ? 

Vast  our  country  is,  vast  and  unending, 
Who  shall  tell  us,  7a/iere  in  days  of  future — 
Who  shall  tell  us,  ?/in  days  of  future — 
Our  poor  huts  again  shall  be  rebuilded  ? 
Fortune,  ah,  it  grows  not  quick  as  r)'e  grows, 
Grows  not  by  the  road  as  humble  weeds  do, 
And  not  like  the  dear  sun  sets  it  ever. 
Only  to  rise  bravely  on  the  morrow. 

198 


l^artmann 


Slow  grows  fortune,  like  unto  old  tree  stems, 
Slowly,  slowly,  if  again,  perhaps,  ever. 
With  the  lead  inside  flies  yet  the  falcon. 
With  our  sorrow  we  yet  wander  onward. 

Let  this  year  dread  winter  not  come  on  us. 
Let  it  not,  oh  Heaven,  full  of  mercy  ! 
Banish  it  behind  thy  clouds  of  darkness, 
That  we  may  not  stiffen  in  the  forests. 
In  the  bitter  wind-tossed  winter  forests  ! 
For  no  home  this  year  have  our  poor  children, 
And  no  home  have  our  poor  wives  and  mothers  ; 
Listen,  how  they  weep  and  wail  in  anguish  : 
Lo,  nor  home  nor  roof  possess  our  husbands  ! 

Nothing  saved,  except  the  coins  of  silver 
Which  our  dear  fair  maidens  always  carry 
On  their  necks,  instead  of  necklets  costly  ; 
Give  to  us  those  coins  of  fair  white  silver, 
Give  them  us,  ye  fair  and  gracious  maidens. 
That  we  may  buy  bread  to  give  our  children  ! 

Take  them  all,  our  coins  of  fair  white  silver, 
But  no  bread  is  to  be  found,  oh  sorrow. 
In  the  land,  not  e'en  for  golden  ducats, — 
Sad  our  stricken  country,  sad  and  dreary. 


199 


©ictor  ton  ^cgeffel 

Heini  of  Steier 

The  Nightingale  calls  to  the  Finches'  gay  brood  : 
"A  fiddle  is  ringing  sweet-toned  through  the  wood  ; 
Ye  twitterers  and  chatterers,  oh,  hush  now  your  strain, 
For  Heini  of  Steier  has  come  back  again  !  " 

The  old  village  cobbler  his  cap  waves  with  glee  : 
"  Now  Heaven  in  its  mercy  remembereth  me  ! 
Sole-leather  will  rise  and  dance-shoone  burst  in  twain, 
Now  Heini  of  Steier  has  come  back  again  !  " 

To  the  dance  are  fast  flocking,  with  frolic  and  jest, 
The  maids  crowned  with  chaplets,  arrayed  in  their  best : 
"  Where  tarry  the  suitors  ?     Our  hearts  are  all  fain  .  .  . 
For  Heini  of  Steier  has  come  back  again  !  " 

And  who  dons  her  kirtle  for  frisking  it  gay  ? 
'Tis  old  wrinkled  granny,  waxing  young,  too,  to-day ; 
Lean-legged,  like  a  heron,  she  stalks  down  the  lane  .  .  . 
Faith,  Heini  of  Steier  has  come  back  again  ! 

200 


His  flock  leaves  the  shepherd  all  heedless  behind, 
Leaves  the  peasant  his  plough  and  his  horses  the  hind, 
The  farmer  and  bailiff  chide  loudly  in  vain  : 
*'  That  Heini  of  Steier  has  come  back  again  !  " 

But  he  takes,  all  silent,  his  fiddle  to  hand, 
Half  brooding,  half  playing,  unconscious  doth  stand. 
Chords  gush  forth  electric,  like  soft  fiery  rain  .  .  . 
Lo  !  Heini  of  Steier  has  come  back  again. 

...  In  the  nuns'  cloister  garden,  on  flowery  steep, 
Bends  one  o'er  the  fountain,  and  listening  doth  weep  : 
"  Oh  veil,  oh  black  raiment,  oh  bitterest  pain. 
My  Heini  of  Steier  has  come  back  again  !  " 


201 


The  Valley  of  the  Espingo 

They  marched  o'er  the  mountains,  following  the  stream, 

Moorish  soldiery,  mounted  and  bold  ; 

To  fight  with  the  Franks  was  their  eager  dream, 

In  troops  they  marched  by  each  swollen  stream, 

Where  the  snows  of  the  Pyrenees  melted  cold. 

Through  the  humid  ravine  wave  their  mantles  murk, 
Keen  blows  the  blast  from  the  peaks  on  high  ; 
Their  eyes  search  around,  threaten  lance  and  dirk, 
No  Basque  plumed  bonnet  unseen  may  lurk — 
And  the  dread  Basque  arrows,  how  swift  they  fly  ! 

Wearily  thus  the  whole  day  they  wend. 
Dreary  the  path,  hasty  the  ride  ; 
Endless  the  pine-woods  seem  to  extend. 
The  mule  needs  the  lash  ere  the  journey's  end, 
And  the  snorting  charger  slackens  his  stride. 

202 


Suddenly,  lo,  from  the  gorges  wild, 
Falling  abruptly,  down  leads  the  way  ; 
And  they  gaze  on  a  scene  delightful  and  mild, 
Fair  meadows  bordering  on  mountains  piled. 
Butterflies  soaring  in  sunset  ray. 

How  verdant  the  mead,  and  how  balmy  the  air, 
Boughs  scarce  tremble,  so  tenderly  kissed, 
The  orange  blooms  and  the  jonquil  fair, 
Sweet  red  roses  blush  everywhere. 
All  lies  bathed  in  a  sunny  mist. 

And  the  Moors  are  touched  by  the  wondrous  spell. 
Dear  past  days  in  memory  they  see, 
When  they  hunted  the  Hauran's  swift  gazelle. 
When  they  listened  to  love  and  roamed  the  dell. 
And  plucked  the  roses  of  Engadi. 

And  with  joy  they  descend,  and  the  host  scatters  wide. 

Zephyrs  tenderly  fan  their  hot  brow  ; 

As  round  Bagdad's  rose-plains  in  fragrant  pride. 

Where  the  ocean  tempers  the  fierce  noontide. 

So  the  lake  wafts  humid  moisture  now. 

Their  anxious  fears  how  quickly  they  go, 
Weapons  and  arms  are  cast  aside  ; 
They  wander  in  rapture  where  roses  blow, 
Their  hearts  as  with  meeting  sweetly  aglow, 
And  they  dip  to  bathe  in  the  limpid  tide. 

203 


%  Centurp  of  overman  %nric^ 

Ah,  home  !  ah,  bliss  !     To  their  laughter  and  glee, 

The  watch  within  list  with  envy  sore. 

So  peaceful  the  fair  earth  seems  to  be, 

They  are  tempted  to  roam  o'er  the  fragrant  lea, 

And  those  who  should  watch,  they  watch  no  more. 

They  watch  no  longer  !     But  Night's  fell  breed, 

Treachery  watches,  secret  and  sly  ! 

It  steals  from  the  forest  with  silent  speed, 

It  creeps  to  the  tents  :  have  heed,  have  heed  ! 

The  dread  Basque  arrows,  how  fast  they  fly  ! 

Too  late,  too  near  is  the  danger  at  hand  ! 

Weaponless,  they,  amid  roses'  breath, 

All  are  cut  down,  each  valiant  band  ; 

Ah,  treacherous  dream,  so  seductive  and  bland, 

Ah,  image  of  Home,  thou  broughtest  Death. 


204 


The  Incantation  of  the  Dead 

{From  ^'  Ahasuerus") 

At  midnight  hour,  in  lonely  chamber  drear, 
Vaulted,  cavernous,  dead  and  windowless, 
(Having  regard  not  to  the  outward  world, 
But  turned  within,  as  is  the  soulless  eye 
Of  one  in  slumber — )  broods  the  Necromant. 
Silent  he  sits  and  still,  while  lurid  lamps 
Pour  down  a  flickering  and  uncertain  light 
On  strange  dread  instruments.     With  stolid  stare 
Gaze  from  the  walls  Egyptian  images 
In  human-bestial  shape  :    Bubastis,  see, 
And  Horus,  Typhon,  Isis  and  Osiris  ; 
And  ever  in  between  creep  mystic  signs. 
Like  reptiles  crawling  up  and  down  the  walls. 
On  lofty  pedestals  gleam  metal  mirrors. 
Funereal  urns  with  ashes  of  the  dead, 

205 


%  Century  Df  overman  Xyric^ 

And  black-charred  bones. — Still  more  receptacles 

Hold  deadly  herbs,  while  yonder,  lo,  doth  hang 

A  human  skeleton,  and  overhead 

Hangs  a  dead  raven.     Here  doth  lie  extended 

An  alligator  ;  yonder,  heads  of  dog, 

Of  sparrow-hawk  and  of  the  holy  Ibis. 

Here  gloats  a  lifeless  lynx  ;  there,  glassy- eyed 

A  dead  hyaena  stares. — Breathes  not  one  spark 

Of  life  beneath  this  dry  rot  and  decay  ? 

Ay,  but  there  does  ! — Crouched  at  the  Wizard's  feet 

A  black  dog  growls  and  snarls,  as  though  he  were 

Twin  brother  to  the  dog  of  Hecate  ; 

A  tawny  snake  glides  tortuous,  in  smooth  coils, 

Across  the  room  with  red  unwinking  eyes  ; 

While  in  yon  corner  squats  a  venomous  toad, 

Bloated  of  bulk. 

The  Necromant  doth  brood 
Deep  wrapt  in  thought.     From  Egypt  hath  he  come. 
From  the  old  sacred  country  of  the  Dead, 
Whose  glory  now  decays.     In  wanton  Rome, 
Where  life  in  joyous  billows  surges  high, 
All  lonely  stands  the  Wanderer  from  the  Nile, 
As  were  he  messenger  of  Death.     Deep  glowing 
Flashes  within  the  eye  of  this  Magician 
That  mystic  light,  born  of  the  Orient, 
Which  ever  but  in  smouldering  blazes  forth 
Its  fire  into  our  cool  gray  Occident. 
But  quietly  soon  shall  draw  near  the  day 
( — 'Tis  promised  by  this  man's  dark  flashing  eye  ! — ) 

206 


l^ametliug 


WTien  from  the  East  triumphantly  shall  break 

A  fuller  stream  of  this  same  dazzling  light, 

Gathering  the  nations  of  the  western  world 

Together  to  a  worship  new  and  strange  ! 

Thoughts,  world-transforming,  glow  and  seethe  beneath 

The  bronzed  and  dark-haired  brows  of  earnest  thinkers. 

From  Libyan  shore  or  from  Judeean  strand. 

Forerunners  of  an  Era  new,  these  men 

From  Eg)'pt  and  Chaldaea  walk  the  world. 

Soothsayers  they  and  Seers,  Tellers  of  dreams  ; 

And  this  same  shining  mystic  glow  of  thought 

Rests  on  the  brow  of  Apollonius  too. 

Driven  by  unrest,  he  came  to  Rome  and  heard 

With  smile  of  scorn  that  Nero  boasted  proudly 

Of  his  omnipotence. — "  Can  he  subdue 

Spirits  and  Hell  itself?    Not  he,  in  faith, 

But  Apollonius  can." 

To  him  hath  come 
An  old  man,  sad-eyed  and  mysterious, 
Who  more  than  once  had  urged  him  to  arouse 
And  furnish  him  with  all  his  occult  might 
To  do  a  deed  of  dread  and  awful  glamour, 
The  object,  sooth,  to  put  to  shame  a  Nero  ! 

WTien  Apollonius  from  his  brooding  dreams 
At  length  looks  up,  behold,  there  stands  before  him 
This  stranger  old,  sad-eyed,  mysterious, 
A  rapid  word  is  whispered  'twixt  the  twain. 
And  then  the  other  silently  conducts 

207 


%  Century  of  o^ecman  %uric^ 

Into  the  dusky  room  of  the  Magician, 
Rome's  mighty  Ruler. 

"  Art  thou  he,"  quoth  Nero,. 
"  To  whom  is  given  secret  might  to  compel 
The  Dead  to  rise  up  from  the  shades  of  Hades  ?  " 
"  Not  only  these  I  govern,  Imperator, 
The  very  demons  bow  to  my  behest. 
Bound  by  the  secret  laws  of  occult  powers  ; 
And  e'en  the  gods  on  high  obey  my  will, 
For  firm  resolve  zs  magic — is  the  godhead." 

"  Such  is  my  creed! — But  if  to  me  thou'lt  prove 
That  thy  volition  yet  the  will  of  Nero 
Transcends  in  occult  and  mysterious  skill, 
Then  open  unto  me  the  gates  of  Hades, 
And  bring  before  mine  eyes  dead  Agrippina  !  " 

The  other's  quiet  answer  :  "I  can  do  it." 
And  then  he  pours  with  gloomy  eye  intent 
O'er  signs  obscure  and  cabalistic  scrolls 
That  he  may  find  in  tablets  cuneiform 
Th'  auspicious  moment.     Then,  on  glowing  brasiers 
He  incense  throws,  whence,  in  white  vap'rous  wreaths, 
Rises  a  subtle  odour.     Lamps,  strange  fashioned, 
Stand  upon  brackets  and  on  pillars  quaint, 
Shedding  across  the  fumes  a  blood-red  light. 
And  now  the  Wizard  reaches  down  dark  herbs, 
White  Asphodel,  Vervain  and  Aconite, 

2oS 


I^ameding 


Potent  of  spell  and  succulent,  all  cut 
With  brazen  sickle  on  the  Pontine  shore. 

Meanwhile,  half  in  derision  smiling,  Nero 
Glances  around  the  chamber,  when  his  eye 
Falls  on  a  polished  mirror,  burnished  brightly ; 
Whence  meets  his  gaze,  in  jeering  merriment, 
A  hideous  face,  more  scoffing  than  his  own. 
Swift  he  recoils,  and  seemingly  irate 
The  Wizard  hastens  up  and  throws  a  veil 
Across  the  mirror's  bright  and  tell-tale  surface. 

Then  he  lifts  up  a  stone  from  out  the  floor, 
And  slaughters  o'er  the  gaping  aperture 
A  black  lamb  to  the  powers  of  dread  Avernus  ; 
Then,  murmuring  mystic  words,  he  lets  the  stream 
Hot  trickle  down  into  the  earth  below. 
The  dog  slinks  up  to  lick  the  moisture  warm, 
But  the  Magician  drives  him  off  with  blows. 
Until  he  seeks  a  distant  corner  howling. 

The  steam  of  blood  now  rises.     Apollonius 
Catches  within  a  bowl  some  of  the  ichor, 
And  then  lets  fall  three  measured  drops  of  blood 
Within  a  goblet,  foaming  rich  and  sweet, 
WTiich  now  he  hands  to  Nero  that  he  taste  it. 
The  rest  he  sprinkles,  muttering,  drop  by  drop ; 
And,  lo,  wherever  such  a  drop  alights 
There  straight  awakes  a  strange  and  awful  life, 

209  p 


%  Ccnturp  of  overman  %yric^ 


Born  of  the  brasiers'  steaming  exhalations, 

Born  of  the  weird  red  flickering  of  the  lamps, 

Born  of  strange  sounds  and  spirit-tones  that  seem 

Wafted  from  vast  and  awful  space.  — Things  dead 

Stir  with  a  ghostly  life. 

The  eyes  of  the  dead  lynx,  the  dead  hysena, 

'Gin  suddenly  to  glitter  fierce  and  bright, 

Their  nostrils  twitch,  as  lustful  to  inhale 

The  welcome  steam  of  blood  ;  the  lifeless  raven 

Hanging  above  the  grisly  skeleton 

Flutters  its  wings  first  slow,  then  faster,  stronger, 

And  digs  its  beak  into  the  bony  framework 

That  now  appears  to  clothe  itself  in  flesh, 

And  softly  to  moan  out  in  gnawing  pain. 

The  alligator  opes  his  bristling  maw, 

A  cloud  of  owls  and  bats  wheel  round  and  flutter 

Athwart  the  room  with  soft  and  spectral  wings. 

The  Necromant,  still  pacing  through  the  room, 

Sprinkles  bright  drops  on  this  side  and  on  that ; 

And  now,  against  his  will,  a  drop  alights 

In  one  of  those  bronze  talismanic  urns, 

Wherein  lie  bones  and  ashes  of  the  dead. 

Up  from  the  ashes  flamelets  leap  and  hiss. 

And  from  the  urn  doth  rise  a  pallid  head, 

A  death-pale  face,  with  eyes  all  firmly  shut. 

Enraged,  the  Wizard  rushes  to  the  spot. 

And  presses  back  with  quick  and  trembling  hands, 

The  apparition  dread  into  the  urn. 

2IO 


llainErling 


And  now  their  wings  attempt  the  sparrow-hawks, 
And  fluttering  scream  and  fly  across  the  room  ; 
But  at  their  screeching  waxes  wrath  the  toad, 
Furious  the  crocodile,  the  yellow  serpent ; 
In  turmoil  wild  they  hiss  and  yelp  and  snarl, 
A  wailing  as  of  wind  goes  through  the  air, 
And  in  between,  a  moaning,  sobbing,  barking, 
As  noise  of  waters,  howling  fierce  of  tempest. 
The  black  dog  mingles  in  the  creatures'  strife 
With  furious  madness  ;  foaming  rears  the  snake. 
The  toad  spirts  wildly  round  its  venom  black. 
The  Wizard,  ever  muttering  spells,  collects 
The  flecks  of  foam  from  off  the  dog's  white  fangs, 
The  serpent's  slaver  and  the  toad's  foul  venom. 
Mixing  it  all,  with  henbane  leaves  thrown  in. 
Within  the  smoking  pool  of  blood  below. 

But  wilder,  madder  yet,  more  clamorous  rises 
The  furious  racket  of  the  spectral  rabble. 
Nero,  aghast,  lifts  up  his  foot  to  crush 
The  serpent's  head  that  madly  darts  at  him  ; 
When,  wilder  still  than  all  the  previous  uproar, 
A  Stygian  tempest  rushes  through  the  house. 
Whose  thundering  roar  is  blent  with  groans  of  death. 
The  earth  doth  quake,  and  goblins  mow  and  dance 
With  gibbering  ghosts  ;  the  very  gods  of  Memphis, 
Dog  and  bird-headed,  join  the  unholy  revels. 

Into  this  weird  and  furious  whirl  of  spectres. 
Into  this  brood  of  Hell,  now  broken  loose, 

211 


%  Centurgi  of  overman  %pric^ 

The  Wizard  suddenly  calls,  loud  and  clear, 
A  single  mystic  and  commanding  word  ; 
And  in  an  instant  vanishes  the  rabble 
To  Stygian  shades,  and  all  the  hideous  uproar. 

An  odour,  sweet  and  faint  of  violets, 

Steals  o'er  the  senses  ;  and  a  purple  glow 

Enshrouds  the  distance,  whence,  in  rosy  cloud 

Approaching  nearer — look  you,  where  she  comes  ! — 

With  features  sweet  and  pale,  with  garlands  crowned 

Of  lilies,  violets  and  asphodel. 

Her  eyes  firm  closed, — floats  hither  Agrippina  ! 


212 


On  the  Battlefields  of  Metz 

{September,  1870) 

O'er  fields  crushed  down  and  trodden 
My  foot  passed,  sad  and  slow ; 
Those  who  grim  death  have  suffered 
Now  stilly  rest  below. 
The  greensward,  drenched  and  sodden 
With  noble  blood  and  brave, 
Now  yields  unto  the  fighters 
A  solemn  quiet  grave. 

Here  lie,  without  or  coffin 
Or  winding  sheet  and  shroud, 
Who  stood  upon  this  mountain. 
The  battle  raging  loud  ; 
A  cross  of  withered  branches 
Is  all  the  graves  can  show, 
What  doth  the  inscription  tell  me  : 
*'  Two  hundred  sleep  below  !  " 
213 


911  Centurp  of  oBerman  %pric^ 

And  further  yet  and  onwards, 
What  do  these  tablets  say  ? 
By  thousands  rest  dead  warriors 
Laid  low  in  earth  and  clay ; 
Of  arms  and  shells,  the  splinters 
Thick  o'er  the  grass  are  strewn — 
Oh,  grimly  Death  the  Reaper 
On  that  stern  day  hath  mown  ! 

Each  blade  of  grass  is  weeping, 
Cold  drops  cling  far  and  nigh, 
While  o'er  the  meadows  sweeping 
I  hear  low  requiems  sigh  ; 
Discordant  rises  yonder 
Of  ravens  black  a  cloud, 
And  dense  white  mists  are  weaving 
O'er  all  a  giant  shroud. 

And  they,  who  fought  so  bravely, 
For  ever  now  shall  sleep 
Here  in  the  yellow  cornfields, 
Or  by  yon  vineyards  steep  ; 
And  when  spring  airs  shall  softly 
Wander  o'er  field  and  plain. 
Then  o'er  these  mounds  the  peasant 
Shall  drive  his  plough  again. 

Where  you,  oh  noble  comrades, 
Your  final  home  have  found, 
214 


ilitttr^gau^ 


The  corn  shall  sprout  yet  higher 
A  foot  above  the  ground  ; 
The  dead  men  in  the  vineyards 
To  the  roots  give  lusty  life, 
The  yellow  and  blue  clusters 
With  twofold  strength  are  rife  ! 

Ye,  who  the  foe  sank  fighting, 
Ye  men  and  striplings  true, 
We've  buried  you,  and  sadly 
Our  soul  doth  weep  for  you  ! 
Your  last  dread  hour  has  sounded, 
Your  work  is  done — ye  sleep, 
E'en  as  the  mighty  rootwork 
Of  trees  imbedded  deep. 

From  North  and  South  together 
The  time  called  loudly  Ye  ; 
You  are  the  roots  and  fibres 
Of  the  Tree  of  Unity  t 
Lo,  North  and  South  are  clasping 
Their  hands  with  fervent  strain — 
Nought  forges  hearts  together 
So  firm  as  grief  and  pain. 

As,  when  the  bullets  whistled, 
Hot  anger  made  us  one — 
Now  shall  the  golden  crops  of  Peace 
For  all  ripe  in  the  sun  ! 

215 


%  Centurp  of  overman  Xy^tif^ 

We've  stood  in  flames  and  flashes, 
With  weapons  keen  and  bright — 
Now  shall  the  fiery  vintage 
Of  freedom  us  delight. 

Lo,  if  our  crops  grow  verdant 
O'er  German  field  and  dale, 
We  owe  it  you,  ye  brave  ones, 
Ye  silent  men  and  pale  ! 
And  if  on  German  vinestems 
The  grape  hangs  ripe  to-day, 
You've  paid  it  with  your  heartblood. 
Oh,  bitter  price  to  pay  ! 

When  hushed  the  battle  thunders, 
Your  Nation  proud  will  write 
Your  names  in  golden  letters 
On  bronze  and  marble  white, 
But  Time  may  mar  the  marble, 
Crumbling  to  dross  the  ore — 
In  the  memory  of  your  nation 
Ye  live  for  evermore. 


2i6 


la^itter^gaul 


"  I  asked  the  sun  " 

I  ASKED  the  sun  :  "  Say,  what  is  lore,  ah  tell  me?" 
He  gave  no  answer,  only  rays  of  gold  ; 
I  asked  the  flowers  :  "What  is  love,  ah  tell  me ? " 
They  shed  sweet  perfume,  but  no  answer  told. 

I  asked  the  Almighty  :  "What  is  love?  or  holy, 
Or  frivolous  ?    To  know  I  would  be  fain  ! " 
Then  God  gave  me  a  loved  and  faithful  woman, 
And  never  asked  I  what  was  love  again. 


^i> 


Kriemhild 

From    her    balcon>  Queen  Kriemhild   o'er  the   burnished 

heather  spied, 
Shields  she   saw  and  sheen  of  helmets  flashing   from    the 

mountain  side. 

From  her  brow  her  gold -red  tresses  back  she  pushes  with 

white  hand  : 
"Welcome  now,  my  guests  of  Bergund,  welcome  to  Queen 

Kriemhild's  land. 

"Seven  years  full  sorely,  sorely,  have  I  yearned  to  see  this 

day. 
Grievously  was  tried  my  patience,  slow  the  hours  crept  on 

their  way. 

"When  yon  Hun's  ajahorred  kisses  I  with  secret  loathing 

bore, 
For  this  hour  which  now  is  striking  have  I  waited  evermore, 

2!8 


*'Now  thy  weapons  seize,  King  Etzel,  called  by  men  the 

Scourge  of  God, 
Now  shall  thou  my  dowry  furnish  burning  fierce  in  flame  and 

blood. 

''  Not  in  vain  I  gave  my  body  to  the  greatest  king  of  war. 
For  revenge,  revenge  shall  soothe   me,  as  no  woman  had 
before  ! 

"At  my  drawbridge,  see.  King  Gunther,  wildly  rears  thy 

charger  back  ! 
Vainly  dost  thou  hush  and  soothe  him,  never  shall  he  bear 

thee  back  ! 

"When  my  Siegfried  rode  out  hunting,  nought  ol  danger 

dreaded  he, 
Yet  didst  thou  so  foully  slay  him,   who  so  fondly  trusted 

thee. 

**\Vho  is  that?  Not  Hagen,  surely?  Blinded  by  the  Gods,  I 

ween. 
Would  he  else  have  dared  to   venture   where  Kriemhilda 

reigns  as  queen  ! 

"Though  thy  head  rise  ne'er  so  proudly,  towering  over  friend 

and  foe. 
That  on  Siegfried's   heart  has  rested    this  my  hand  shall 

smite  it  low  ! 

219 


%  Ccntucy  of  aP^erman  Xyric^ 

**  But  on  yonder   milkwhite   palfrey,   with  his  gold   locks 

waving  wild, 
He  with  sunny  smile  and  gentle,  that  is  Giselher  the  child. 

*'  Woe,  my  brother,  bright  and  courteous,  with  thy  cheeks  a 

tender  red, 
Woe,  that   thou   to  Kriemhild's  banquet,  with  the  others 

forth  hast  sped. 

*'  Look  ye,  they  have  all  dismounted,  Hagen  too  !  with  sullen 

fall. 
Clangs  the  brazen  gate   behind  them — mine,  yes  mine,  are 

all,  are  all !  " 


Hagen's  Death  Song 

Now  I'm  the  last  remaining,  the  princes  all  are  dead. 
How  in  the  silver  moonlight  the  bloodstained  floor  shines 
red! 

My  jovial  glad  Burgundians,  how  quiet  are  they  now, 
I  hear  their  heart-blood  trickling  from  open  gashes  slow. 

Up  from  the  palace  rises  a  steam  and  smell  of  blood. 
And  for  their  meal  hoarse  shrieking,  the  vultures  leave  the 
wood. 

220 


King  Gunther  tosses  wildly  with  fever  dreams  oppressed, 
Since  a  sharp  bolt  descending,  cleft  keen  his  helmet's  crest. 

Slain  lies  the  tuneful  Volcker-  -he  laughed  out  as  he  died  : 
"  Take  all  I  have,  oh  Hagen,  my  fiddle  take  !  "  he  cried. 

To    guard    from     Hunnish    treason,    his    fiddle    dear    to 

screen, 
He  bore  it  on  his  trusty  back  which  never  foe  hath  seen. 

u  "^ 
Like  nightingale  it  sounded  when  Volcker  bent  the  bow,—   ^^ 

Far  differently  'twill  echo  in  my  rough  hands,  I  trow !  ^    ^ 

Four  strings,  I  see,  are  broken— three  whole  ones  yet  I  spy, 
I  never  yet  have  twirled  them,  no  fiddler  sv/eet  am  I ; — 

To-day  I  fain  am  tempted  to  list  grim  Hagen's  lay, 
An  honest  heartfelt  cursing's  as  good  as  prayer,  I  say  ! 

So  now  I  curse  all  women — Woman  what's  false  and  base  : 
Lo,  for  two  white-limbed  women  must  die  Burgundian  race  ! 

Out  on  the  weak  illusion  of  love  and  such  like  prate. 
All  love  is  but  a  fiction  and  real  is  only  hate  ! 

Fools  but  repent  their  action  '.—That  is  but  worthy  of  breath, 
With  sword  in  hand,  hot  hate  in  heart,  proud  to  endure  till 
death. 

Had  I  to  shape  my  life  anew,  my  actions  one  by  one, 
'Fore  Heaven,  there's  not  a  single  deed  that  I  should  wish 
undone. 

221 


%  Centutgi  of  dJerman  %pric^ 


And  were  a  second  Siegfried,  beloved  ot  men,  to  appeal, 
Again  I'd  thrust  into  his  back  a  second  time  my  spear  ! 

Why  snap,  ye  craven  lute-strings  ?    Do  ye  refuse  such  song  ? 
Hark,  who  with  step  of  thunder  the  palace  stalks  along. 

And  nearer  yet  and  nearer— a  shadow  grim  and  great— 
This  is  no  Hunnish  slave  or  spy,  this  sounds  like  march  of 
fate ! 

Up  and  arouse,   King  Gunther !— I   know   that  stride  so 

stern, — 
Up  and  arouse,  'tis  Death,  Revenge  !    Lo,  Dietrich  comes, 

of  Berne  I 


222 


i^EinticS  ©ierartit 

Cupid's  Market 

Because  all  lone  and  sad  my  house, 
I  went  to  Cupid's  market  near, 
To  buy  myself  a  little  god. 


The  woman  offered  me  thereon 
A  nestful  of  the  dainty  ware. 
In  gilded  basket,  latticed  o'er. 

But  I  said :  nay,  it  is  enough, 
Good  woman,  one  love  is  enough — 
And  so  I  chose  ray  little  rogue. 

Then  seized  she  roughly  with  her  hand 
One  of  the  cupids  by  his  wings. 
And  handed  me  the  wailing  boy. 

Ah,  gently,  my  good  woman,  soft. 
Lest  you  should  hurt  his  tender  plumes, 
For  delicate  are  these  same  goods  1 
223 


%  Centurp  of  oBerman  %prtc^ 

With  shy  arch  eyes  the  baby  boy 
Twinkled  his  thanks  all  gratefully, 
And  silvery  bright  his  voice  laughed  out. 

I  took  the  baby  home  with  me, 
And  gave  it  for  a  home  my  heart, 
And  fed  it  like  a  little  bird. 

By  day  he  points  his  arrows  keen. 
At  night  he  lights  his  little  lamp, 
To  light  me  to  some  silent  tryst. 

No  longer  sad  and  lone  my  house. 


Dioscuri 

My  path  led  by  the  blue  salt  bay. 
Rocks  on  the  right,  to  left  the  sea. 
Fiercely  the  noontide  sun  beat  down. 
Glittered  each  grain  of  shining  sand. 

All  lost  in  dreams  I  wandered  on 
Along  the  cragged  and  rocky  beach, 
When  suddenly  I  heard  the  snort 
Of  horses  near,  and  stood  transfixed. 

From  gleaming  sea-foam  rose  to  view 
Two  splendid  chargers  black  as  night ; 
224 


J^ierortit 


Their  withers  cleaved  the  limpid  wave, 
And  billows  rippled  round  their  flanks. 

All  stirrupless  and  saddleless, 
Their  arching  necks  flung  proudly  back, 
Thus  rambled  they  along  the  beach. 
And  joyfully  their  neighs  rang  out. 

A  stripling  youth  bestrode  each  horse, 
Features  and  shoulders  as  of  bronze. 
But  breast  and  thigh  as  marble  white, 
In  glorious  god-like  nakedness. 

Are  ye  the  Dioscuri,  say, 
Those  brother  charioteers  of  Rome  ? 
Did  you  desert  your  centuries'  watch 
By  Fountain  and  by  Quirinal  ? 

Nought  in  creation  may  surpass 
In  fiery  strength  and  lusty  pride, 
In  youthful  glad  exuberance — 
On  naked  steed  the  naked  man  ! 

The  breakers  that  ran  dripping  off". 
Played  round,  and  lit  up  shimmering 
Their  bodies  as  with  silver  sheen. 
E'en  as  they  were  Olympus'  gods  ! 


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